


Caffeine Pourtress Brew

by LittleMissPixieStix



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 139,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissPixieStix/pseuds/LittleMissPixieStix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henrik Vogler, by day, is a coffee shop manager who works tirelessly to keep the orders filled, keep the place clean, and to keep his co-workers in line.  </p><p>And by night?  He is a very tired coffee shop manager.  But something about the place keeps him coming back for more.  </p><p>Is it the meager paycheck?<br/>Not really.</p><p>The co-workers?<br/>Maybe.</p><p>The customers?<br/>For the most part, definitely not.</p><p>Except for that one tall, Russian customer that he looks forward to seeing every night.<br/>Getting to talk to that guy is good source of motivation for Henrik.  A very good one.<br/> <br/>(TF2 Coffee Shop AU, focusing on Medic and Heavy, but with other appearances and/or mentions by other canon TF2 characters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting up Shop

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this mostly because of some inspiration from some pictures by toothanddraw on tumblr, but also partly because I could make the title into a massive pun. 
> 
> Rating is subject to change as the fic progresses, so be sure to keep that in mind.
> 
> This fic is also on my tf2 tumblr if you want to reblog it there, something that would be greatly appreciated - http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/119145828427/caffeine-pourtress-brew
> 
> Toothanddraw's art -  
> http://toothanddraw.tumblr.com/post/118919122197/he-got-a-food-service-chain-coffee-job-he-doesnt

“I’d like…um-”

There was a pause from the customer, a blonde with a bob hair cut and a pink velvet tracksuit.  It was a pause that the cashier knew was going to lead up to a nightmare of an order for him.

“-A Double Ristretto Venti Nonfat Organic Chocolate Brownie Frappuccino Extra Hot with Foam and Whipped Cream Upside Down Double Blended,” The words came rattling out of her mouth, obviously a well-practiced set, ”And…hmm…And a muffin.”

Working as a Barista wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  But that didn’t mean that Henrik “Doc” Vogler wasn’t going to give it his very best.  Every part of this job, from the cleaning, to the drink making, to keeping his coworkers in line were going to receive his utmost attention.

“Zhat vill be five dollars and seventy five cents,” The German said as he started on her drink order, “Vhat is your name and vhat type of muffin are you after?”

“Amanda.  What types do you have?” The girl asked, peering into the case on the counter.  She placed her fingers on the glass as she looked through the different kinds.  All Henrik could think about was how he was going to have to clean the case after the woman left.

“Chocolate Chip Cookie Crumble, Blueberry Delight, Banana Nut Bonanza, und, Pumpkin Cream Cheese, the latter is a fall special,” He recited, having already grown immune to the ridiculous names the company gave the baked goods after only a few months.

“Um, okay,” the girl said, “Do you have any that are, like, gluten-free?”

“A dietary restriction?” He asked. 

“No, um, it’s just a preference.”

“We haf no gluten-free muffins at zhe moment, but we do offer a gluten-free chocolate chip cookie, as vell as a gluten-free Snickerdoodle.”

“No, nooo, those won’t- Is that really all you’ve got?” She asked, “Ugh, fine.  I guess I’ll take a Banana Nut muffin.  That sounds like it’s the healthiest one.”

“Zhe calorie counts are on zhe menu-”

“Just give me a Banana Nut muffin,” The woman said, smacking a ten dollar bill down on the counter. 

“Alright, just one moment, please,” Henrik replied, somehow managing to keep his professional smile on his face despite his growing annoyance, “I am just about finished vith your drink.”

The woman impatiently cracked her gum as she waited, sighing and rolling her eyes when her drink wan’t ready the moment she wanted it to be.

‘Finally,” She muttered under her breath when Henrik placed her drink on the counter and slid a glove on so he could go retrieve her precious muffin.  

He placed that on the counter, and then, after punching some numbers into the register, handed the woman her money.  

“Four twenty five is your change,” He said, “Have a nice day.”

“Would have had a better one if this stupid place had gluten-free muffins,” The woman muttered as she finally, finally, walked away.

Before Henrik would go around to clean the case, he needed to check something first.  When using the whipped cream, it hadn’t seemed right.  It was off, in a way.  It wasn’t bad, just off.  

After trying it, squirting a small amount onto his little finger for a taste, he found out why.  

Someone had used half-and-half instead of actual cream to make it.  

If Henrik were to make a guess as to who, his first would the Jane fellow.  Either him or the Boston Brat.

He didn’t have too much time to contemplate it, because he set right to making a new batch before another customer came in.  The aforementioned Bostonian arrived soon Henrik started, the boy having just finished up his break, 

“Scout,” Henrik said, using the boy’s nickname, his real name rarely ever used, “Who made zhe last batch of whipped cream?  I vant names.”

Scout recognized that tone.  It was one where the older German was calmly trying to sniff out the source of a problem, so that he could go inflict his anger on the proper person or thing.  Luckily, for once, Scout was in the clear and could truthfully say - 

“Jane did,” Scout said, getting his apron off of a hook, “He made the stuff last.”

“I see.”

“What’d he do that’s bugging ya’?”

“Zhe man used half-and-half in zhem.”

“Oh no, not thaaaat,” Scout sarcastically, “That’s the most awfulest thing that ever happened in the history of ever.”

Henrick’s face clearly showed a lack of amusement at the Scout’s commentary.

“C’mon, lighten up, man,” Scout said, “S’not the end of the world.”

“No, but it is wrong!” Henrik said as he cleaned out the bottle, “Zhere are instructions given, instructions to be followed, and he clearly disregarded zhem.”

“Hey, you wanted whipped somethin’, he gave ya’ whipped somethin’,” Scout said with a shrug, “Half-and-half was probably the closest thing around when ya’ said that.  We’re lucky he didn’t try to make it out of, like, used coffee grounds or something.  Imagine how that woulda’ gone.”

Henrik still didn’t appear to be amused.  Instead of responding, he just set himself to the task of making this  _right._

Scout didn’t know much about his co-worker. The man was strict when it came to the business, always telling people to get to work, to fix their mistakes, and never making any himself.  Always standing up straight, at attention, and bringing the utmost discipline wherever he went.

Made the boy wonder who had stuck a stick up his ass.  

Or at least, it made him wonder who the older guy was trying to impress.  It was weird.  Even though the older man was holding a chain job, nothing outstanding, it was like he was trying to impress someone.  

Thing was, there was no one to impress with a job like this.  You came to work, you did your job, you got your paycheck, and if you were lucky, you had a job the next day.

That was it.  

There were a few exceptions, though.  For Scout, the ladies were the ones to impress, especially a certain black-haired one  Give them an extra pump of whipped cream, and maybe they’d give you a number, though it had yet to work with his personal favorite customer.  There was also one particular customer that Scout’s coworker enjoyed dealing with, that one g-

“Don’t just stand zhere,” Henrik’s voice cut through and interrupted Scout’s thoughts, “If zhere are no customers, zhen find something to clean; go clean zhe drains.”

Never mind impressing anyone, maybe the guy did have a stick up his ass.

After a long quiet period, now in the late afternoon, a fairly nondescript businessman stepped up to the counter,one didn’t feel the need to hang up his phone.  This made it very hard to Henrik to take the man’s order.

“Hello, velcome to-” He was cut off by the man holding up a finger.

“Yeah, uh huh. Have you talked to Bernard?  Bernard?  The guy in marketing?  What do you mean we don’t have a Bernard in marketing?  His name’s Richard?  Really?  When did that happen?”

“May I take your-”

 “Have you run the numbers on that?  Isn’t that your job?  It’s not my job to do that.  I just tell people what to do.  That’s just how business works.”

Scout watched the scene in utter silence, peering up from his mopping to see how the scene was panning out.  Though the German had lost his temper a few times with his coworkers, few enough times to count on one’s fingers, it had never been with a customer.  

It made him wonder if today was going to be the first.

“Right now, ve haf half price-”

“Business, business, business,” The man moved his finger to actual cover the German’s lips, effectively shushing him, “I tell you what to do, not the other way around.  Why is that so hard to understand?”

Though he had been trying to hold his tongue, Henrik felt that a line had crossed a while back with this customer.  The physical contact was clearly too much.  It angered the German so much, in fact, that he missed the bell signalling the entrance of another customer, despite as large as the man was.  

Before Henrik said anything, though, Scout spoke up for him.

“Don’t you touch him like that, ya’ bastard!” Scout said, ready to brandish his mop if needed, “Keep yer’ grubby hands off of my co-worker.  You ain’t the first asshole we’ve had today, but if we’re lucky you’ll be the last.”

…Can you give me a second?” The man said into his phone, anger showing on his face, “The idiot Baristas keep interrupting-”

“Are not idiots. Maybe the idiot should hang up phone.”

There was a new voice, a deeper one, speaking now, one from the newcomer into the cafe.  This further interruption caused the businessman to glare back behind him at the man.

“Maybe  _you_ should mind your manners.”

“Maybe you should mind own.”

“Is this really the type of attitude that you condone here?” The man said, turning to the German, “I’m surprised.”

“No, it’s not,” Henrik said calmly, “So I must ask you to leave.”

The smug look on the man’s face, present for the first half of Henrik’s reply, turned to angry shock.  He tilted his head up and looked down his nose at the man.

“I will be sure to leave this place an appropriately scathing review.”

“Nothing you’ve done’s been appropriate so far,” Scout said, continuing with his mopping, “Why should we think that yer’ revew’ll be the first?”

With that, the man stormed out of the building, pushing past the Russian man.  The door closed loudly behind him, with the small tinkling of a bell accompanying his exit.

“Deal with people like this all day?” The larger man asked, stepping up to the counter.

“More or less,” The German replied, leaning forward on the counter as he talked, “During lunch, people didn’t haf the time to be as…zhat.  It vas too busy. Later in the day is vhen zhe entitled troublemakers come in.”

“Entitled troublemakers?  Is that so?  I will leave then.”

“Present company excluded, of course,” Henrik replied, replying to the Russian’s teasing, “Vhat drink are you after, Misha?”

Henrik knew the man’s name well.  He was a frequent customer, always coming in after the afternoon rush had blazed by.  It was a welcome visit.  After the hectic crowd, the Russian brought a natural calm, something that Henrik would welcome in this chaotic, sometimes rage-inducing business.

“What do you recommend?” Misha asked, “Anything special on the menu?”

It was a question that the man asked every time, and every time the German was able to recite what was unique to the menu today.  Though impressive, it wasn’t necessarily the answer that Misha was looking for. 

Maybe, one day, that answer would come.

“I want a black coffee, small, but not smallest.  Next one up,” Misha said, trying to remember the size names, “Is called a tall, correct?”

“Yes, zhat’s right,” Henrik said as retrieved the cup and wrote the man’s name on it, “Zhe names aren’t always zhe clearest, but zhat is the next size up.  You usually order a small, did you sleep poorly last night?”

“No,” Misha replied, watching the other man  get his coffee, “Just wanted more from the ‘doctor’ while he was working.”

“Doing a decent job making drinks does not make one a ‘doctor’,” Henrik argued, placing Misha’s drink down on the counter, “It’s just doing my job.  Two fifty.”

The Russian already had the money, five dollars, in hand.  Before Henrik could give the man his change, Scout called from the back room.

“Hey, hey, hey!  Where’s the caramel syrup bag thing?”

“To your left.”

“Which left?  My front left, my back left, or my right left!?”

Henrik sighed.

“Excuse me a moment,” He said to Misha, disappearing back behind the  employee-only door.

The moment after he disappeared, Scout emerged.  The boy headed straight to the counter, and checked the register.  

“Two fifty?” He said, “Out of five, gives ya’ two fifty in change, and-”

Scout took the money, placed the change on the counter, and pulled out his phone.  He tapped it a few times, scrolling down until he reached the “M”

“There’s Mother Hen’s number,” He muttered, pulling a marker out from the front of his apron.  He grabbed onto the man’s coffee, scribbled something under his already-written name, and then placed the drink back down, turning it towards the customer.

“Alright, Hen’s m’manager, so I have his number, and you two are just bugging me,” Scout said quietly, glancing back behind to make sure that his co-worker was still busy,, “So here’s the deal; gave ya’ his number, call him up, say it was an accident or whatever, and make a move or, just, something, a _nything._ You two are kinda hopeless, especially if this is all yer’ ever gonna do, so consider this a favor from a guy who’s tired of watching the same thing happen every day.  Just actual use it, alright?  And don’t tell him where you got it.”

Misha picked up the cup, and turned it towards himself, looking over the new addition and hiding it from others’ view.  He dropped some of his change into the tip jar, dropping the remaining dollar into his suit pocket as Scout dropped his phone back into his apron.

“-Point of going back zhere to help you if you’re just going to leave,” Henrik came back out of the staff room, “Do you hear me, Scout?  Next time you ask for help, stay so you might learn somezhing.”

‘Right, yeah, sorry,” Scout said, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “Just thought I should make sure the customer was happy.  Yer’ happy, right?”

“…Yes.  Very happy,” Misha said, realizing that the conversation had turned to him, “Good service, good coffee, why would I not be happy?”

“See?” Scout said, “I did good.  I’m gonna go finish mopping now, a’right?” 

“Zhank you, Scout, and make sure that it’s actually clean, and not just soapy,” Henrik said, moving back to Misha, “Did he get your change?”

“Yes, leetle man did, took good care of customer,” Misha replied, turning to leave, “Am all set. Thank you.”

“Have a nice day,” Henrik said, watching the other leave, “Come again soon.”

And with his favorite customer of the day taken care of, surprisingly quickly, the man went back to work.  Normally the Russian man had time to talk, and didn’t run off as soon as he had gotten his drink.  That was new.  

Had Scout said something, or done something, wrong?  If the boy had, he was sure that Misha would have said something about.  The boy wouldn’t have gotten off easily, he was sure, and Scout wasn’t acting suspicious in the least.  So maybe he hadn’t. 

All Henrik could do was wonder about it.  Wonder during his shift, wonder as he gave Scout a light lecture for his, for once appropriate, attitude with the businessman, wonder after his shift, wonder on the way home, and wonder as he finally sat down for the first time in hours.

And still he wondered what was going on when the phone in his apron pocket started to ring, and he reached down to retrieve it…

Without even glancing at the screen, he answered the call.

“…Hello?”-


	2. From Ash to Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing more characters into this AU. Is this how you expected to meet the Pyro?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find this fic on my tumblr here: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/122597068522/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-2  
> Reblogs and likes there are appreciated!

His cell phone was incessantly ringing, so Henrik sighed and dug it out of his apron.  Without bothering to see who was even calling, a bad habit of his, he answered it.

“Hallo?”

“Hello, sir!” answered an enthusiastic voice.

“Ah, Jane,” Henrik answered, “To vhat do I owe the pleasure?”

“With my free time today, Sir, I went and scoped out the rival stores in the area,” Jane reported, “Mocha Works, the enemy at the Junction, is releasing a new drink and having a sale to promote it!  We need to form a counter attack!”

Henrik pulled his phone from his ear and looked down at it with a frown, wondering if he was hearing things correctly.

“Counter attack?  Jane, vhat-” Then Jane’s words sunk in, “You...went and spied on a different store!?”

“Most of the stores in the area actually, Sir.  I wasn’t able to get to the Double Shot before it closed, but I did get some information by expertly peering in the window.”

“No, Jane...No, my question is vhy did you do zhis?” Henrik asked as he picked up his water, taking a sip as he waited for an answer.

“You told me to.”

Henrik was left sputtering for a reply, and sorely regretted taking a drink at that moment.

“J-ack, J’n-...Jane!” He exclaimed, ignoring the dampness soaking into his clothes, “Vhen did I ever tell you to somezhing like zhat?”

“Today,” Jane replied, “You said you wished you knew why you were getting fewer customers.  Well, I have-”

“Say no more, Jane.”

“Pardon, Sir?”

“Say no more, Jane,” Henrik repeated, “Vhat you are doing has to be illegal in some vay und I do not vish to get into trouble.  I will run my store as I see fit.”

“But, Sir-”

“Your help is appreciated, Jane, but zhe store is doing fine,”  Henrik told him, “Zhis is not approved behavior.  We’ll talk more in zhe morning vhen you come into work, and I decide zhe suitable method of discipline for you.  I do not vant to talk about zhis anymore tonight.  Good night.”

Without waiting for a reply, Henrik hung up the phone and sank back into the chair with a sigh.

“Oh mein Gott.” He said rubbing his face tiredly.  What had Jane been thinking, literally taking an offhand comment and suddenly making it his life mission?  What was Henrik himself supposed to do?  Fire the man?  They were already short on staff, and there were no new hires.  Henrik himself stayed for more shifts than he should, but he couldn’t keep doing that forever.

It wasn’t as if Jane wasn’t a good employee.  He was dedicated, that had been showing, and, though he was literal - once a customer asked for a “crapton” of whipped cream and Jane had delivered, as the stack whipped cream boosted the drink’s height by at least six inches.  Jane had been reprimanded for that - Jane knew how to make a.good drink.  

While Scout preferred to talk with customers, especially the females, Jane was all business.  Maybe not as friendly as he could be, but he could soldier right through a rush hour and be no worse for the wear.  

Henrik’d hate to have to fire him.  Perhaps he’d make the man take some time off, but doing that would give Jane more free time, and that was dangerous.  Maybe he’d put Jane on strict mopping duty, but that would take Scout’s possible punishment out.  Then what?-

As he was trying to think of something that would work, his phone started to ring again, causing him to groan loudly.  

Jane.  

It had to be, Henrik didn’t even have to look to know, so he didn’t.  Of course Jane would call Henrik again after only a minute.  Jane never knew when to quit.  That was a good trait to have in the workplace, but not one to have if you were just going to keep calling someone repeatedly.

“I told you to stop calling me, Jane, I don’t vant to talk anymore,” He said, cutting off the other party before they could speak, “I’m tired und angry vith you right now.  Ve’ll talk in the morning, alright?  Goodbye.”

And with that, Henrik turned his phone off, put it down, and left to go check on his pet dove, Archimedes.  Perhaps being around the bird would help calm him down, and help him relax enough to get some sleep.

If only he had taken a moment to check the number instead of assuming who it was, there was a chance he wouldn’t be as angry anymore.

Misha stared down at his phone silently, a forlorn feeling growing inside as he put it down.  It had taken him all night to work up the courage to call that number, loads of different mental conversations in his head as he tried to prepare for any twist in the conversation.  

As hard as he tried, though, he hadn’t prepared for that reply.  

Who was Jane?

Misha didn’t go to the coffee shop in the morning, Jane’s usual work time, instead preferring to go unwind after work.  That meant that he was free to try to guess who this Jane was.  

A friend?  Some family?  A lover?  A soon-to-be ex-lover?  It could be anyone.  Henrik sounded angry as well, as if he was in the middle of a fight with them.

After that disaster of an attempt, Misha decided that it was safer to cut his losses and, rather than call Henrik again, just call it a night.

Neither Misha or Henrik went to bed happy that night, both frustrated about the same man.  

Even if Misha wasn’t aware that Jane was a man.

The next morning, Henrik arrived bright and early at the shop, checking to make sure that the help wanted sign in the window was still up.  Soon after, Jane showed up, already dressed for work.

Henrik stood up straight, matching Jane’s posture and trying to give himself an air of authority as he greeted the other man.

“Jane, I’ve been zhinking, and I have decided your punishment,” Henrik paused to give the other man a chance to talk, but received only silence, “You vill be vorking zhe same hours, but you will docked slightly in pay for zhis week.  Is zhat acceptable?”

“Yes, sir,” Jane replied, “I will accept that.  I did not mean to disappoint you, Sir.”

“Just do not do it again, now-” Henrik replied, but before Henrik could continue, a familiar customer arrived.  He was one of the few that they expected this early in the morning.

“Hello, Tavish!” Jane said brightly, offering the man a wave, “You look terrible!”

Indeed, the dark Scotsman wasn’t looking great.  He had bags under his visible eye, and his curly hair was a mess, a headband helping to keep it off of his face.  His clothes, though a nice slacks and collared shirt, were also a slightly wrinkled mess.

“Thanks, Jane,” He replied with a yawn, “I had no idea.”

Henrik looked over at Tavish, taking in the man’s exhausted state.

“Are you feeling alright?  You do look quite weary.”

“Aye, I’m fine,” Tavish told them as he moved to sit down at a table, “Just had a late night.  Can ya’ make me the usual?”

“Yes, of course.  Jane, please go retrieve zhe items for making whipped cream.  We haf somezhing else to talk about in a moment," Henrik told his co-worker, "What do you mean a late night, Tavish?"

"We’re nearing the end of the semester.  There are loads of papers ta’ grade, an’ the honors students want their’s graded before they even hand ‘em in, it seems,” Tavish replied, “Not that I can blame ‘em for that.  There’s a lot of pressure on them, bless their wee hearts.”

“You’ve still got zhe teaching position?” Henrik asked.

“Aye, I’m going to be subbing for the rest of the year, for the next week or so until this semester ends and everyone gets ta’ go enjoy the holidays,” Tavish said, “Ina’s pregnancy’s gave her a break for the last month.”

“A pregnancy is not a break, Tavish.”

“I know that.  The Telcase household is expanding by at least two kids, an’ that cannae be easy.  But her pregnancy’s also helped knock her right out of finals week, lucky lass.

“I take it you’re not enjoying yourself entirely?”

“The kids.  I love the kids.  They all want ta’ learn, but jammin’ their heads with things ta’ know for a test isn’t learnin’, it’s memorizin’.  Can ya’ really blame ‘em for gettin’ tired of that?” Tavish asked, They’re not helpin’ kids grow inta’ people, they’re makin’ fact-spewing parrots out of ‘em.”

“Do you still vant to go into teaching?”

“Yes an’ no.  No, if I hafta’ just jam facts inta’ their head.  Yes, if I can teach ‘em.  Ya’ shoulda’ see the looks on their faces when we talked about the Hindenburg.  Or when I was teachin’ them about explosives.  That was new, that was exciting, an’ they wanted ta’ learn.”

“Please tell me zhat you are not teaching zhe children to make bombs.”Henrik said as he placed Tavish’s drink down on the table.

“Nae, I wouldn’t teach the kids ta’ make anything that dangerous.  Pipe bombs are the worst I’d ever do,” Tavish said, sliding the exact amount due Henrik’s way, “Thanks for the drink.”

“...So you have taught zhem how to make pipe bombs?” Henrik asked worriedly, picking up Tavish’s payment.

“Maybe a step or two’s come up, but I wouldn’ teach them more than that.  Just because my family’s in the demolition business, and I help make some of the explosives and do some take-downs, doesn’t mean that I’d  _tell_  the kids how ta’ make anything like  _that_.”

“Zhank good-”

“A step-by-step guide’s more handy.”

“Tavish!”

Tavish laughed.

“I’m just teasing ya’, Henrik,” He said with a grin, “Sorry, lad.  But it is nice ta’ finally have somethin’ ta’ laugh about.  Sorry it had ta’ be you.”

“Finally have something to-...?  Is everything alright?  Is your family okay?” 

“Aye, they’re fine, but it’s comin’ up on finals week soon, really soon, and I haven’t had a drink for a couple days,” Tavish said, “Told the kids at the finals review I’d suffer with them and not touch it until school was over next week.  I miss my scrumpy already.”

"Zhen perhaps it is a good thing for you to get a break from it-"

"We should celebrate the end of the semester by going out to a bar and drinking!" Jane said, busting out through the employee-only doors with a kick, his arms full of items, "An American bar!"

"I like your thinkin', lad!  After all of this school-stuff is over, I'm gonna need a few," Tavish said excitedly, "Henrik, would you want ta' join us?  It'd be in a lil' over a week."

"No, I don't zhink so," Henrik said, shaking his head to reaffirm his answer, "But zhank you for offering."

Tavish stayed quiet a moment, his lower lips sticking out a bit in thought.  He looked the German over, wondering about the man, staying silent the whole time.

"That's a few days away, Henrik, so feel free ta' change your mind an' come along, if ya' want," Tavish said as he stood up and picked up his drink, "Excuse me now, lads.  Now that I’ve gotten something ta’ help wake me back up, I need ta' be going soon.  Class starts soon."

The Scotsman picked up his bag, already holding his coffee, and left.  After he was gone, Henrik set to making Jane go over proper whipped cream making techniques, and that cream could not be substituted, not wishing to having a repeat of yesterday’s mistake.

In the middle of this reteaching, Henrik’s phone started ringing, the default ringtone carrying up from where he had it stored in his apron.  Asking for a moment, he stepped away to answer it, leaving Jane to finish up on his own.  

A moment later he came back, a more pronounced frown present on his face.  

“Sir, I have finished making the-” Jane’s proud proclamation stopped when he saw his manager’s face, “Sir, is something wrong?”

“Cap quit.” 

“Sir?”

“Cap quit,” Henrik repeated, “He just called to quit.  And not even a week after I had to fire zhe twins for stealing supplies.  It’s down to you and Scout now.  Und me, but I’m already here most of zhe day, so zhat is nothing new.”

“If you need me to stay longer, Sir-”

“I already have you working as much as I am legally allowed to.”

“I’ll get my twin brother to work here, then.”

“You never mentioned having a twin before, Jane,” Henrik said slowly, “Vhat is his name?”

“Uh...Jan?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline zhat generous offer, Jane, but I appreciate it,” Henrik said, “Just make sure you are ready for zhe workday”

“Yes, Sir!”

Henrik glanced up at the specials board, remembering that he needed to update it for the day.  Taking a second to go retrieve the step stool, he placed it down, and started to erase the board when the small bell rang, signalling that someone had entered the shop.

"...Hlmmlo?" A light, timid voice asked, speaking again once they pulled a scarf down from their face, "Um, hello.  Are you the manager?"

"Ja," Henrik replied, pausing in his erasing to turn and face them, "Indeed I am.  How may I help you?"

"I saw you were hiring...” They said, “Are you still?" 

"Yes," Henrik replied, fighting to make sure that over-eager excitement did not creep into his voice, "Are you here for a job?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Good, good.  Let us talk zhen, yes?" Henrik said, stepping down off of the step-stool, his task not yet completed, "Have a seat at any table you want."

Henrik was now looking at the other party.  They had bright, colorful hair, and it was short.  When their face was visible, after the scarf was pulled down, it was hard to tell if they were male of female just from looking at it.  They had sharp cheeks bones, and their lips would be plump for a man, but average for a female.  Looking at their body wouldn't help Henrik figure that out either, because they wore a loose sweatshirt, and their pants were baggy.  Partnering all of that with the airy, lithe voice, and this person that had just set foot in was truly an enigma.

Henrik pulled out a chair and sat down with them, a hiring worksheet in his hand.  

“Vould you like to fill zhis out first, or vould you prefer to talk?...”

“Ah, talk, I guess?” They replied.

Waiting for a moment for them to introduce themselves, Henrik reached out his hand, paused to pull it back and wipe it on his apron, and then reached it out again.

“I’m Henrik,” He said, “Und you might be?...”

“Me?  Oh!” They said, a sheepish look on their face, “Sorry, you can call me Ash.”

“Vhat might Ash be short for, zhen?”

“It’s not, um...I’m just Ash,” They said.

Henrik stayed quiet a moment, glancing down at the sheet in his hand.  They’d have to put their full name on it, so there was no reason for him to press for details now.  He’d figure things out, there was no need to rush them, especially with how nervous they seemed.

“I suppose zhat you may be, yes,” Henrik said, “Is there a reason zhat you vant to vork here?”

“I...This is going to sound bad, so give me a second to explain it all, okay?” They asked, “I used to work at a different coffee shop, and I was fired, but not because I messed up or anything, but because they wanted to go automatic-y-ma-jig.”

“Meaning?”

“They fired some people to save money, and installed some machine that can make the coffee faster.  You’ve heard of them, right?  The Gray Inc. ones?”

“ _Ja.”_

“Yeah, the store owner decided that he’d rather make twice as many drinks than make them pretty.”

“Pretty?”

“Latte art.  I’m really good at latte art, worked really hard to get good at it, but it doesn’t matter now,” Ash said, a hint of bitterness creeping into their voice, “Why make it pretty when you can make it  _fast_?”

Henrik slid the sheet over towards them, and tapped it twice.

“I’m quite interested in your ability, and am happy zhat you have experience.  Very happy,” Henrik said, “Vould you mind filling zhis in for me?  It’s purely a formality, but I do need you to.  Do you need a pen?”

“No, I’ve got one,” Ash said, “I’ll do it.  I just need a minute.”

“If you tell me who you used to vork for, I could give zhem a call before too long.”

Actually if he were given the number, he was going to go to the back and call right this moment.  He didn’t want to seem too eager, but he needed this employee.  They were basically perfect for the job, whoever they were.  He just needed to check in with their previous manager to make sure that everything checked out.

“The Special Delivery,” Ash called over, already filling in the blanks.

“Zhank you.”

Stepping into the back room, Henrik found that shop’s number, and pulled his phone out, barely noticing his last received call was from an unknown number and not Jane.  But he did notice, and he paused to look at it for a second before he called the other coffee shop.

A few minutes later, he stepped out, having heard news about Ash, all of it good.  They may have had their quirks, Henrik didn’t need to be told that to see it, but they were good at their job.  They were just the unfortunate recipient of a small, but necessary, lay-off session after the machines started handling a good chunk of the work.

Jane had been taking care of any of the customers that arrived, and the small trickle had started to turn into a steady stream.  Soon, it was going to boil over into the morning rush, which meant that Henrik should be finishing up with the prospective hire soon.

He walked back over to the table, taking a seat once again. As Ash slid the paper over to him, turning it so that Henrik could start reading from the top, the German noted with amusement that it was written in pink glitter pen.

“Is Ash Phoenix really your name?” Henrik asked, having just started reading.

“Yeah, it is now.  I changed it when I turned eighteen.  My old name didn’t fit anymore then,” Ash answered with a shrug, “Been Ash Phoenix for a couple years.  I like it.”

 Henrik could accept that, people could grow out of names whether they were normal or not, and he did so easily.  Reading the paper over, he noticed that most if it was good, if not great, there was a spot that was missing being filled in with glittery pink, messy, handwriting

“You missed here.” Henrik said, sliding the sheet back and tapping a box, “You need to check whether you are male or female.”

“I...um.  About that.  Do I have to?” Ash asked nervously.

“It is preferred...Vhy not fill it in?”

“Because I...don’t really...have one?”

Henrik’s eyes widened, as he wondered if he was regarding an anomaly of life.

“...How do you ‘not haf one’?”

“Well, I can be both.  I feel like I can be both,” There was a frown on their face as they tried to explain themselves, “Some days I wake up and I feel like I’m a guy, and some days I wake up and I’m a lady, and other days...I’m neither.”

“And today?”

“Today’s a neither day.” 

“I see...I think...” Henrik paused, glancing over the rest of the sheet, “Ash, I do need you to fill zhis in.  I have to submit the paperwork, und I do need you to check a box for me.  Just go vith vhichever you were born as.”

Ash gave a nod and took the paper back.  Their pen paused over the paper, and they hesitated.

“You’re not going to call me whatever I check, right?  I prefer being a ‘they’ then having to tell people who I am today, you know?”

“I can understand that.  It’s merely for paperwork purposes,” Henrik reassured them, “We’ll call you vhatever you vant.”

His words inspired a small, relieved smile on their face.

Before he could see them check a box, Jane called him over, needing the register opened so that he could give the customer the penny he had forgotten that they were demanding. 

Standing up, Henrik headed over to the cash register.  He noticed that Jane was watching the potential new hire intently.  

“...Is he a hippie?” Jane asked in a low voice.

“Nein,” Henrik said slowly, “And zhey’re name is Ash.”

“Sounds like a hippie name,” Jane cautioned, “Naming himself after a tree the minute he was born.”

“Babies don’t name themselves, Jane, they can’t even talk,” Henrik said, pausing as he started opening the register, “And zhey are not a ‘he’.”

“She?”

“No.”

“Then they’re a robot!” Jane’s whisper took a sharp turn, “Or maybe a spy from a different coffee shop.”

“No, neither of those.  Zhey are a...zhey.  I don’t understand it myself, I really don’t, but zhat is zheir preference, Jane, and I hope you understand zhat.”

“I do not want to call a single person a they.”

“But zhey vant you to, and I need you to for zhem,” Henrik said, handing the customer their remaining change, “Und for me.  Zhey are absolutely perfect for zhe job, zhey have experience, zhey already know about zhe machines, zhere is no weeks of training for zhem to change zhere mind.  Please, Jane, just accept it and call zhem vhat zhey vant.  For the shop?”

“...For the shop.” Jane agreed reluctantly, watching the customer leave, “And because I respect  _you,_ sir.  But I don’t respect the hippie, and I don’t plan to.”

“You don’t need to as long as you can just respect zhier vishes und treat them decently,” Henrik said, a tone of warning in his voice, “Do not make me have to choose between you or zhem, Jane.  I don’t want to- ”

Henrik closed the register shut with a bang, causing both Ash and Jane to jump slightly.

“ - And as long as you two manage to get along and vork vell together, I von’t have to.  Are we clear?”

“Very clear, Sir,” Jane replied, “I will do my best to work with the ‘they’ hippie.”

“You better, Jane.” Henrik murmured as he moved past him, “For zhe sake of zhis business, your job, and my life, you better.”

As soon as he was back over by Ash, there was a friendly look replacing the serious one he had had not moments ago.  From the look on Ash’s face, they hadn’t heard the discussion taking place moments ago, and that was good.  That was very very good.

“Here it’s done now,” Ash said, sliding a folded paper over Henrik’s way, “I checked it.  Thanks for understanding about this...”

“You are velcome,” Henrik said taking the paper back and sliding it into his apron pocket, “And zhank you for applying here.  Vhen can you start?”

“Can I start now?”

“Now?” Henrik asked.

“Mmm hmm,” Ash said, “Can I?”

“Oh, ah, yes,” Henrik replied quickly  Yes, of course you can.  I may not be able to get you on zhe payroll yet, though...So ve might have to count zhis as a test day or somezhing.”

“That’s okay,” Ash said, “I just hope I pass.”  

Ash’s initial question hadn’t been expected, but it was met with excitement.  All of this was so serendipitous.  Could this hire be anymore perfect?  Had the coffee gods - there seemed to be gods for everything, so why not coffee? - heard his dilemma and sent someone here?

If so, he thanked them profusely.

“We have some clothes in the back, let’s find you a uniform, and zhen you can start.  Jane and I vill both help you figure things out,” Henrik said, “But first, clothes.”

Taking Ash into the back with him, he pulled out boxes of clothes, black shirts, black pants, and colored aprons, all sorted by size.  

“You may try zhese on,” Henrik said, watching the concerned look that strike Ash’s face, “I vill be out front helping Jane.  Please come out when you have found clothes zhat fit, and zhen your training vill begin.  Ve’ll probably start vith a short day, if zhat’s alright?”

“Huh?  Yeah, sure,” Ash said with a nod, moving to start digging through the boxes, “I’ll be right out.”

Henrik stepped back out through the doors, moving quickly to assist Jane with a sudden large crowd of footballer and cheerleaders who had stepped out of a bus.   Unfortunately for the two workers, the customers were as impatient as they were numerous, and they had to work quickly, Jane to fill orders, and Henrik to do the same, but also make sure that Jane’s temper stayed even amidst the complaints being sent their way.

The two of them were so busy that he almost didn’t realize that a third person had joined them, except that the writing on the cup he was handed was certainly more curvy and artistic then Jane would have ever dared to use.  Jane’s handwriting was, for lack of a better word, simple, and the writing on this cup was certainly not.

Turning he saw Ash writing down the next order and trying to pass it off to Jane, but the man refused to take it, leaving Ash to try to fill the order themselves.  They moved over to where Henrik was asking in a low voice where the soy milk was, and if if this pink stuff was the strawberry syrup.  Pointing Ash in the right direction, Henrik noted that they had picked baggier clothes, mimicking the ones that they had come in with.

Henrik was handing off the order he had filled, and Jane was filling a different one, which left Ash to pick up the next order.  As they were working the register, they heard one of the football coach ask them a question.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

“Hmm?” Ash asked.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

“I’m not on the menu,” Ash replied.

“Not what I asked,” The man said, “Are you a boy or a girl?”

“Whichever one you think it is, you’re probably wrong.”

“What’s in your pants?”

“Me,” Ash said, “It’d be weird for anyone else to be.”

“What’s between your legs?” The coach asked, squinting at them.

“Why does it matter?” Ash asked, growing uncomfortable.

Henrik moved to step in, seeing how this was escalating and that it wasn’t going to end well.

“You are holding up the line, sir,” Henrik said to him, “Place your order or move aside so that others may.”

Before the man could reply, Henrik stepped in front of Ash, moving them slightly behind him, and asked the next person in line for their order, blatantly cutting him off.  After receiving it, he handed the cup back to Ash and sent them to work, staying up front while the coach was nearby.  Ash came back with the drink soon enough, which meant that they had figured things out.   Henrik had thought he had heard whispering behind him taking place, which may have meant that Jane must have helped Ash out.  Thank goodness.

Soon, every rider had to return to the bus, which meant that the three workers had a second to breath.  Not for long, though, the lunch hour rush was right around the corner, which meant that it was necessary to get Ash with familiar with as much as they could absorb before then.

Surprisingly, Jane helped out in this lesson.  It wasn’t filled with coddling, it was as gruff as the man was, but it was still a step in the right direction.  By the time that next crowd came through, Ash should know where at least most of the items were to make the drinks, even if they still had to learn exactly how to make them.  Their prior knowledge gave them an advantage though, since they weren’t starting from the complete bottom up.

“Mr. Henrik, sir?” Ash said, “Can I fill out the board?”

“Zhe-...?” Henrik’s eyes widened as he realized that he had never filled the specials board back in, “Certainly, if you vant to.”

Reaching into his pant’s pocket, he produced the list of today’s specials and handed it over to Ash.  He watched as they excited climbed up the step-stool and set right to work.  Though he was annoyed he had forgotten the task, he soon managed to reassure himself that that last group hadn’t deserved it, so it was all okay.

“Is everything restocked, Jane?” Henrik asked turning to his co-worker, “We have zhe afternoon rush coming soon.  Please check vith me.”

The two of them went over the supplies and, after getting another skim and soy milk from the back, and some chocolate syrup, were set.  When they came out, they saw Ash climbing down off of the step-stool, racing around the counter, and pulling out their phone.  Curious, Henrik walked around next to them and his mouth fell open when he saw the work of art they had created with chalk in that short time.  

Usually, the specials were just written on the board, occasional adding a curly symbol for interest’s sake.  But what was on the board now was probably the most impressive thing that had been on it since the buy one, get one sale they had had for the one year anniversary.  They had drawn a cup, a pastry, written the shop’s name at the top, and embellished it all with different fonts and swirls.  And there was a small pink thing in the corner.  

...What was that thing?

“Zhat is...amazing,” Henrik said, “Did you really just do zhis?  And vhat is zhat waving in zhe corner?”

“Yup, I just did this!  I really like it, it came out so good, that’s why I’m taking a picture now,” They said, a huge smile on their face, “And that’s...um, that’s Balloonicorn.”

“...Und vhat’s a Balloonicorn?”

“It’s a...an animal,” Ash said, “They’re part of a comic I’m working on.  They’re one of my favorite things to draw.  I put them on a lot of things I do...Is it okay?  I can erase it, if you want me to, Henrik sir.”

“ _Nein,_ it may stay,” Henrik said, aware of the unsureness creeping into trheir voice, “It’s just down in zhe corner, it’s not very distracting, so it’s fine.”

“Thank you!” Ash said as they glanced down at their chalk-covered selves, “Okay, lemme go wash my hands now.  I’ll be right back.”

 As Ash walked back to the bathroom, Jane came to stand by Henrik, seemingly wanting to talk to the man.

“That kid’s good,” Jane said, “Raced right into battle without a second thought or a moment of preparation and was great, Sir, real good.  Maybe even the best hire we’ve had today.  You have a good eye, Sir.”

Henrik didn’t bother to remind Jane that they were very lucky that Ash had shown up, and that Henrik hadn’t done any picking or choosing, he was merely procuring the diamonds in the rough that happened to walk through his door.  As long as Jane and the “hippie” could get along, Henrik’d be happy.

The rest of the afternoon went by rather swimmingly, with the three of them able to handle the crowd with relative ease.  Scout came in soon after the crowd was thinning, because he had the afternoon to evening shift.

“Hey, who’s this good lookin’ g-?” He started to ask before Henrik interrupted him.

“Zhis is Ash, zhey will be your new co-worker,” Henrik said.

“She-” Scout received an annoyed stare, “He?”

“They.” Ash told him nervously, “I prefer ‘They’.”

“They?  For real?  Um, alright, Ash,” He replied, “You can call me Scout, everyone else does.  Nice ta’ meet’cha.”

Now that those two had been introduced, Henrik let Ash leave after a few minutes.  They put their sweatshirt back on, and wrapped their scarf around the lower part of their face as they left, as the air was brisk.  

“Goodbye, I am leaving the shop now!” Jane announced as he headed out the door right after, happy to have done his American duty of work for the day.

“Bye bye, okay then,” Scout absentmindedly said to him as Jane left, getting ready for his shift.

Scout soon settled in, making sure that everything was the way that he liked it.  While it was quiet Henrik took a moment to sit down and drink some tea, needing a small caffeine boost to make it through this next shift.  Seeing Henrik sitting down wasn’t normal, but since the other manager had quit two weeks ago and Henrik had been covering, it could be understood.

“How ya’ doin’?” Scout asked, “Ya’ feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Scout,” He replied, “Just tired.”

“Don’t blame ya’ for that..” Scout paused, a grin growing on his face, “...Did you hear anything interesting today?”

“Cap quit.  It’s just you und me tonight.”

His news caught Scout off guard, and the boy’s hands paused as he looked over at his manager.

“I see why you’re you’re sittin’ down then.  I’d be too, if I had to do an extra shift to cover for his ass,” Scout said, “...He just quit?”

“I got the call zhis morning.  He just quit”

“No wonder you hired Rainbow Bright,” Scout said, “After Mario just quitting, and you having to fire Ree and Casey for tryin’ to steal thirty gallons of chocolate sauce and two gallons of whipped cream - sounds like they were going to have a hell of an ice cream party or something - we need this Ash-...person.”  

“Ve do,” Henrik agreed, leaning back and closing his eyes, “Zhey have a lot of experience, Scout, zhey came from Zhe Special Delivery.”

“Whoa ho ho, how’d you get one of them baristas here?”

“Zhey fired half of the staff after zhe owner bought new coffee machines.  Gray Inc.”

“I hearda’ that company,” Scout said, “But holy moley, half of the staff?”

“ _Ja,_ just about _”_ Henrik said with a tired nod.

He opened his eyes to see the concerned look on Scout’s face, the furrowed brow and the tightened lips, and he smiled.

“Your job is safe, Scout, don’t worry,” Henrik said, finishing up his drink and standing up, ready to get back to work, “As long as you keep working as you have been, and you treat your...remaining co-workers with respect, you’ll be fine.”

Scout watched Henrik tiredly stretch and stifle a yawn.  That hadn’t been why he had been looking over at Henrik with concern, but he’d take it.  It was better than being seen as a wuss who was that worried about his manager any day.

“Are you sure you don’t want to leave early?” Scout asked, “You look exhausted.  I got this covered, man.”

“Nonsense.  Lack of restful sleep vill not keep me from doing my job.  I trust you, Scout, but I am here to vork.  You von’t see me taking time off until I am unable to even stand.”

“‘Thanks for being so generous, Scout’.  Why you’re welcome!” Scout said with a arm pump of fake enthusiasm, “Why do I even try to do nice things for you?”

“Like zhat?  Trying to give me time off?  I figured zhat vas more for your sake then mine,” Henrik said with a small laugh, “I appreciate it, Scout, but I am not leaving until your shift is over and we’re closing down for zhe night.  Zhat is final.”

Besides, if he left now, he’d miss his customer.  Being a daytime manager was new, but nighttime had always been his time.  He had seen his customer almost everyday since he had taken this job, and he was not going to go home now.  The thought of seeing Misha gave him enough energy to make it through the night, eagerly looking towards the door every time he heard the door open.

Later into the night, he started looking when he heard a bell ring, even if it was the cash register rather than the door.  Then he started looking even when the only sound was the wind, even when the only sound was a car, and then when there wasn't even a sound to be heard except the usual noises inside of the shop.  

His one moment of hope, when the door opened and the bell rang late in the evening, was dashed when it only turned out to be Scout’s french step-father coming in to wait on his step-son to finish for the night, something that Scout didn’t seem all too pleased about.

After that, he and Scout just started closing up the place for the night, Henrik swallowing any emotion he felt, mostly an unfair sense of disappointment, and covering it up with a layer of seeming authority and stiffness.  It was unfair that he was blaming Misha for not coming, but Henrik had been looking forward to those few minutes of calm conversation with him, and he hadn't missed dropping by the shop for months.

But as Henrik turned the key in the lock to finish closing the place, the answer was clear.

Misha wasn’t going to show.


	3. Caffeination and Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing some more people, by appearance and by name only as we continue another day in the life of Henrik Vogler, stressed manager extraordinaire.
> 
> And, oh, look! Someone we all know seems to have even shown back up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic posted on tumblr here: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/126182541772/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-3  
> Give it a like or reblog on tumblr if you can.

Henrik fumbled with the keys as he tried to lock up the store, first attempting to use the wrong key, his apartment key, and they trying to use the right one upside down.  

Finally, he heard the sound of the lock clicking into place, meaning that he had succeeded.  Still, he tested the door, pushing against it to make sure that the lock had actually locked.  

With a night like this, one that had left him feeling disappointed, he wasn't going to leave any chance for fate to determine that the door was unlocked.

Scout quietly watched, opening his mouth a few times, but closing it only a moment later.  

Should he apologize?  It didn't feel right to.  Why should he admit that this may actually partially sorta kinda be his almost fault?  There was nothing to apologize for yet.  

So Misha had missed coming a day after Scout had given him Henrik's number, what of it?  That had to be some sort of coincidence, it was the only answer that'd make sense.

Well, the other option that would make sense would be that he had actually scared off the customer that Henrik had been kinda flirting with for months by giving the man Henrik's number and...That wasn't what Scout wanted to think.  

It totally just had to be coincidence, that was the only answer he'd accept.  That was the only answer he wanted it to be.  The other options were terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

Silently, Scout moved towards his ride while Henrik finished testing the door.  His step-father was now standing by the car, arms crossed and cigarette smoke slowly curling towards the sky while he waited on the other two men.  

As observant as Julien, Scout's step-father was, he didn’t miss the guilty look on Scout's face as the boy headed his way.  But to point it out now might embarrass the boy, so he waited, instead talking to his step-son's manager. 

"Have a decent day today, Vogler?"

"Vell enough," Henrik replied with a shrug, slowing down as he walked to his car, "Steady flow for most of zhe day."

"Zhat is good to hear," Julien said with a conversational nod, "But how are you doing?  I have heard that the store has been minus a manger, and a few employees, for a few weeks now.  Zhat must be exhausting on you."

"I am doing fine," Henrik said, his front counter grin on his face, "It's not been long since the other manager quit, so covering for him hasn't been an issue.  A new employee vas hired just today actually."

"'Course, Cap quit today too-" Scout added.

"Ash can do more zhan Cap ever could, zhey can do zhe vork of two employees easily," Henrik countered.

"If you say so," Scout replied nonchalantly with a shrug, "I'll believe it when I see it."

"You should believe it, Scout, zhis vas just zhier first day here and und zhey did an amazing job," Henrik said, looking over and talking to Julien now, "How is zhe job search going, Durant?"

"I had a few interviews today, and I have more lined up tomorrow," Julien replied, puffing his cigarette more vigorously as he straightened the tie on his only suit, "As of yet, zhough, I have no employment."

"Not too many people want to hire an actor," Scout said, looking away from his step-father, "They're kinda lookin' at people with better...stuff."

"An actor with a business degree," Julien countered, "My love, and ability, for taking on different roles should not hurt my chances of getting hired.  I don't see why it couldn't help zhem, even."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, Julien," Scout replied quietly, loud enough so only his step-father could hear.

"If you become... desperate enough for a job, I'm sure zhere vill be an open spot in zhe shop," Henrik offered, "You're velcome to come interview for it if you vish."

"I believe for Scout's sake, my sake, and, more importantly, your sake and zhe shop's sake zhat I will have to decline zhat generous offer," Julien said, "I do appreciate it however."

"If you ever change your mind..." Henrik started, knowing that finishing wasn't necessary, and he interrupted himself as he climbed into his car, "Have a good night you two."

Julien moved to sit in the driver's seat, while Scout slid into the passenger's.  They closed their doors at the same time and then both of them silently put their seat belts on, the clicks of the buckles locking into place being the only noise in the car.  Julien turned the key, the engine started, but the car didn't move.

Scout looked over at his step-father, wondering why they weren't moving.  He was in the car, Julien was in the car, and the keys were in the ignition.  By all means the car should be going by now.

"Hey, what's the hold up?" Scout finally asked, looking over at his step-father, "You wanna make this ride even longer or what?"

"What happened?" Julien calmly asked, bringing his cigarette up to his lips.

"What?"

"Somezhing's bothering you."

"What?  Is not-"

"You are a terrible actor," Julien replied, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing I want to talk about with you," Scout replied, crossing his arms as he gave his step-father a stubborn glare, "Nothing I can't handle."

"So zhere is somezhing?..." Julien prompted, focused on his step-son enough that he didn't notice Henrik's car engine sputtering and dying.

"Listen, I got it.  I can fix it." Scout replied, as Henrik tried to start his car again in the background.

"What did you do, pray tell?" Julien calmly asked.

"Nothing you gotta worry about," Scout replied, unaware of Henrik exiting his car and popping the hood.

"Which means it is somezhing I have to worry about," Julein replied tersly, glaring at his step-son instead of noticing Henrik looking at his engine.

"Is not!  I can fix it," Scout said exasperatedly.

"Which means you broke somezhing," Julien replied tiredly, not noticing Henrik kicking his car's tire.

"No, not really," Scout said slowly.

"Tell me what you did-"

"I didn't do anything wrong," Scout replied in anger, not caring that Henrik was climbing back into his car.

"That's what they all say," Julien replied, "What did you meddle in zhis time?  Tell me or I will get your mother involved."

"There's nothing to involve her in," Scout said exasperatedly with a shake of his head, Henrik slamming his forehead onto his car's steering wheel behind the boy.

"Why won't you just tell me what you did?"

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"You are acting very guilty for someone who didn't do anything."

"You're acting like an asshole considering I didn't do anything," Scout said, with Henrik just sitting with his head pressed against the top of his steering wheel.

"I-"

"Let's just drop it alright?" Scout said, "Let's just go home, be nice for ma's sake, and drop this."

Julien took a long pull at his cigarette and heaved a sigh.

"For your mother's sake, I will," He agreed reluctantly, "Iris doesn't deserve to put up with us being like this, and she dies not deserve to sit, waiting, wondering where we are.  Let's go home-"

"Scout.  Call me Scout."

"Are you still using that nickname your father gave you?" Julien asked, Henrik trying the keys in his ignition again, “Why?”

Scout said nothing in reply, but turned his head when he heard a car engine start up to his right.  Henrik sat in the driver's seat, bowing his head with a sigh of relief, happy that he had gotten his car to start up one more day.

"What's your manager still doing here?" Julien asked, squinting over at the other man's car.

"Hen?  He was probably making sure that our engine didn't die or something like that," Scout replied with a shrug,  "He watches for people like that.  Now let's just go back to Ma."

"For once, Scout, I agree with you," Julein replied, backing the car out of the parking space, "Let's go home."

They weren't the only ones heading to their places for the night.  Henrik, now that he had gotten his car started, also started heading home.  After a drive that took too long for Henrik in his tired state, he finally arrived back at his building. He climbed up the stairs, the elevator was broken too often for him to want to trust it on a day like today, and finally made it in his apartment.  

Before he dared sit down, he checked on his pet dove, making sure that the girl had food and water, and then sat down at a table.  He spread papers out in front of him, and let his dove on the table as well.  He had a schedule to reorganize and paperwork to finalize, sleeping could wait.  While writing with his right hand, his dove began pecking at his left.

"You vish for attention, Archimedes?" He said, "I cannot blame you for zhat."

He slowly started petting his dove, being careful to not frustrate her in anyway; both of them feeling like that would do them no good, it was best he keep the bird feeling happy at least.  

"Vhat do you think about having Jane take the morning shift and Ash taking zhe afternoon one, so zhat zhey cross between both Jane's and Scout's, do you zhink zhat sounds good?"

Archimedes tilted her head.

"Ah, zhat is right, you have not met Ash yet.  Zhey are a very good worker, I assure you," Henrik told the bird, "Good at art as vell, which adds some needed...brightness to zhe place.  But I zhink zhey - zhey go by zhey - should only come in early on mornings where I vill be changing zhe menu. Jane is accustomed to coming in on mornings, and I zhink zhat should stay so as not to disrupt him any, don't you?"

Archimedes tilted her head the other way in reply.

"Scout specifically asked to take zhe night shifts, so he is keeping zhose.. Ash even put down zhat anytime vorks for zhem, so I zhink afternoon is a good time for zhem, don't you?" Henrik asked, "Yes, yes, zhat's vhat we'll do. Jane in zhe morning, Ash in zhe afternoon, und Scout from evening on."

The bird cooed, happy to hear her owner talking to her after a long day of being alone in the apartment.

"If we get another manager, zhen I get to spend my mornings back home again with you", Henrik said, leaning down on his elbows to talk to his bird, "Or just another employee, I think there's someone I can promote to manager soon...Perhaps I should get you a companion. I imagine it gets lonely here being all by yourself. But only one or two. Imagine vhat people vould say if I had ten doves in my apartment. I'd be the crazy birdman."

His shoulders shook as he chuckled at the thought, but stopped as he contemplated getting another dove.

"I should make some dinner. No, I should finish zhis paperwork first, zhen dinner," He decided sadly, fishing a treat for his bird out of a bag on the table, "You've eaten, Archimedes, yes? I forgot to today."

Archimedes cooed in reply, happily enjoying her treat.

"I didn't mean to forget, I just did," He argued back, working on the paperwork in his slumped position, "Vith a new employee, people quitting, and a fairly busy day, it just slipped my mind."

Archimedes looked over his way, and gently pecked at his writing hand, wanting another treat.

"Don't give me zhat, I'll try remember tomorrow," Henrik said, scooting the bird off of the papers, "I’ll get somezhing to eat on a break, I promise.  But right now, I am going to finish zhis to get Ash on zhe payroll."

Henrik’s one-sided conversation lapsed into silence as he worked on completing the work in front of him. It was quiet, save for the sound of a pen scratching on the paper, until Henrik, almost done with the task, looked up and spoke again. 

"I've told you about Misha, yes? Tall, Russian man," Henrik reminded his bird, "Can you believe that he didn't even bother coming today? Apparently somezhing much more important came up, and he couldn't be bothered to show-"

Archimedes cooed sleepily, having just been woken up from the nap she was taking next to Henrik's arm. Her papa was still here, he hadn't left yet, she was happy about that.

"You're right. I shouldn't be depending so much on zhis man, a customer. He obviously has a life and so do I...I think, somewhere," Henrik turned his head to look over at his bird, "Tavish invited me to join him at a bar later zhis week. I think I'll be joining him and Jane, no reason I shouldn't.

His bird gave a tired, acknowledging coo, ruffling her feathers just so as she worked on getting back to sleep.

"Shh, no, don't worry. I'll let you know on zhat day, I vouldn't just leave you vondering vhere I vas. I'd remind you," Henrik tiredly said, "I'm not sure vhen it is myself, but I'll let zhem know tomorrow, and double check zhe time."

Henrik moved his head, looking towards the kitchen. He was hungry, but he was also very, very tired. Was it worth getting up to walk all the way over there?

No, he told himself as he took his glasses off and closed his eyes, no it was not worth all that. He'd get something in the morning.

Sleeping at the table wasn't exactly comfortable, but Henrik was exhausted enough that he slept all through the night there.

One problem with sleeping at a table, though, was that there was no alarm clock. 

 What woke him up was a vibrating on his leg. Without lifting his head, he reached down and pulled his phone out of his apron pocket. He clicked open the phone, eyes squinting as he tried to figure out who was calling this late at night. But without his glasses, the screen was just a blurry glowing mess to him.

" _Ja_?" He asked sleepily, smiling down at Archimedes, who had managed to tuck herself in the crook of his arm. 

"Where are you, sir?" Jane asked, the man currently standing outside of the locked shop, "It is less than a half hour until opening time, and I do not see you, sir."

"Vhat? No, no, it's only-" Henrik tried to look at the time at his watch, but had to feel around for his glasses and put them on first, "-a...quarater til ve open!"

That was the only thing Henrik needed to see before he jolted out of his chair. Luckily, he had his uniform right here with him, so he didn't have to waste time finding it, not when he was either wearing it or had it stuffed in his satchel. He barely had time to get Archimedes set up for the long day, and to give her a small kiss on the top of her head, before racing out the door.

Down in the parking lot, he slid quickly into the driver's seat of his car and put the keys into the ignition. His car engine started, but then sputtered out a moment later.

"No, not today," He said as he turned the car off and pumped the gas pedal, trying to make the car work, "You cannot do zhis to me today, I need you to vork."

The car must not have heard his pleas today. Trying again yielded the same failing results.  His car refused to even start again, leaving him without a ride to work.

Sighing, he pulled out his phone again. He called Jane's number and got ready to talk. 

"Jane," Henrik said after the phone was answered, "I'm not going to be on time today. There's a key to the shop in the bush by the door. The right one. It's under some dirt, so you'll have to dig some. Find it? Good, good. I have to walk, so if you vouldn't mind, could you start to open the place? I'll be zhere soon.  Please vash your hands now, you touched dirt.  Zhank you."

Heaving another sigh, his day was probably going to be full of them, he exited the vehicle, secured his satchel around him, and started walking out of the parking lot.

It would be so easy to quit right now, to just take the day off and go back to bed. He could pick up his phone right now and call in sick.

But he already knew that he wasn't going to do that. He couldn't; he was the manager and it was his job to be there, even if he was going to be late. This was his job, his coworkers were depending on him and he couldn't let them down.

That and he needed that paycheck to fix his car. Which was also a compelling reason for him walking down to work despite how tired he was.

He wasn't walking for too long. A few blocks later, a car slowed down alongside Henrik and the driver lightly tapped the horn to get his attention. 

 "Henrik! Hey there, Henrik," Tavish called out, giving the man a toothy grin as the German turned to look at him, "You need a lift or are you just getting fresh air today?"

"My car died," Henrik replied.

"So you're being forced to get fresh air, is that it?" Tavish joked, "Hop in, lad, I can drop you off at the coffee shop if you want. It's on my way. Just be quick about it, I'm running a little behind my self today."

Henrik didn't waste any time. He had been given an opportunity and he wasn't going to let it slip away now. Getting on the passenger side of the car, Henrik swung open the door on the old Station Wagon and climbed into the seat. Tavish started driving before Henrik had clicked his seat belt on, but by the time the Scotsman was up to full speed, both passenger's were safely buckled in their seats.

"Zhank you for zhe lift," Henrik said, pausing as a thought hit him, "Is it legal to drive vith an eyepatch, Tavish?"

"Legal? Why's that matter to ya'?"

Tavish's grin grew as he listened to Henrik sputter for a reply.

"It's finel, Henrik. I've got me driver's license and everything, " Tavish said a moment later, "I've had plenty of time to figure out how depth perception works for me."

"How did you lose your eye, Tavish? If you don't mind telling me, that is," Henrik added quickly.

"Not much to tell, Henrik," Tavish replied.

"Last time Jane mentioned your eye you said you lost it in a fight vith a lion. The time before that you said you lost it in a bird attack vhile you vere skydiving-"

"Neither of which is true."

"You're quite the storyteller. I might have believed the bar fight one if you hadn't said you rode off into the sunset vith a gorgeous blonde clinging to your back."

"Was that the only part you didn't believe?"

"Fighting thirty gang members was a bit much. I might have felt zhat twenty was much more doable for you. "

Tavish laughed at Henrik's reply.

"Promise you the truth's no where near as exciting," Tavish said, "Lost it while helping my family demolish an old house, an old woman's place, I think. Place was falling apart. Piece of the building flew off an’ got me when it was going down, I'm lucky I didn't die."

Henrik sat in silence, wondering what he should say, if anything.

"I'm glad you didn't."

"You're not the only one," Tavish replied with a smile, happily changing the subject, "Did you hear Conagher's back in town?" 

"Oh, is he?" 

"Aye, you should go drop by his bar, especially if your car's kaput."

"I really should."

“Sometimes I think he owns a bar just so he can play psychiatrist, ya’ know?  With the money he’s got in family, he doesn’t need ta’ run that place, he could just work on his gadgets all day,” Tavish laughed, “But what better way to hear about people’s problems then ta’ get them drunk and spillin’ everything out on the table.”

“I’d think it’d get lonely just vorking on inventions all day, even vith how clever zhe man is,” Henrik said, “Machines can talk, but do zhey ever speak?”

“Henrik, it’s too early for ya’ ta’ be playin’ Confucius. Especially since I haven’t had m’coffee yet an’ my brain’s only half-awake.” Tavish said, “There’s no tellin’ what Conagher’s motives were when he opened the place.  All I know is that the man seems to know a lot about everyone, an’ he’s an enjoyable guy to be around.”

“I really should go drop by an’ talk vith him, it has been a while,” Henrik mused, then asking, “Tavish, vhen vere you having the small...bar party? Zhe one for after school?"

"Depends," Tavish replied, "They're calling for snow this week, which might close all the finals early.  Plan is to celebrate on Friday this week, getting to Congher’s at around seven-thirty, maybe eight, and then having the rest of the night to ourselves. You have a phone, right? Give me your number and I can give you a call...Unless you'd rather Jane relay the information." 

"I'll give you my number, Tavish," Henrik said, "Jane is good vith zhe big picture, but I don't think details are his strong suit...Which is terrifying considering he's managing zhe shop by himself right now."

"He is?"

"Yes.  He’s always had someone with him  All I can hope is zhat he is doing a good job of it."

Henrik didn’t need to be worrying too much.  After dealing with the first small, impatient crowd efficiently, Jane was busy checking to make sure he had everything he needed ready for the day.  By the time Henrik showed up, Jane was going to be sure the place was in tip-top shape.

Jane hadn’t known Henrik very well for long.  Henrik had been the evening manager for a while, and Jane only worked the morning shift, which meant that the times that they had met before now had only been a handful.  

But in the short time that Henrik had been working mornings, after butting heads for the first few days, they had earned each others respect and grown accustomed to the other  and their way of working.

Even if Jane had never had to grow accustomed to Henrik’s car dying, it was not going to be a problem for him to handle.  He had just handled a small crowd when he had barely had time to even put the chairs back on the floor, he could handle an empty building.

If it thought it was going to get a jump on him, then it was mistaken.  Jane Doe didn’t let anyone get the jump on him, especially not this building.  He was always on guard, untouchable.  Nothing would get past him, no sir, he was all-seeing, all-noticing, all-aware, all-

“Hey.”

Blinking twice, Jane looked around, eyes finally stopping on Ash.  His new co-worker was leaning against the counter looking up at him.  Their head was resting on their hands and they had a small smile on there face.

“You there, Jane?” Ash asked with a giggle, “It kinda looked like you were spacing out.”

“I was not spacing out!”

“Whatever you say, space cadet,” Ash replied with a smile as they looked around, “Is Henrik in the back?  I need to talk with him.”

“He was having car trouble.  Should be here soon.”

“So it’s just you holding down the fort?” Ash said as they walked to a small table, “I’ll just wait.”

“What do you need Henrik for?”

“I wanted to know if he had a schedule for me yet, or if he had my paperwork done yet,” Ash said as they plopped their backpack down on a chair before sitting, “I need my hours so I can plan.”

“Plan what?” Jane asked, wiping the sparkling counter with a rag, “Plan an attack?”

“Sure, that’s a way to put it,” Ash said as they flipped open a sketchbook, “Do you think Henrik would mind if I hung out here until my shift?”

“I do not know.  You’ll have to ask him yourself,” Jane said, “Here he comes.”

Henrik swing open the door, and then held it as Tavish came in behind him, the two of them in the middle of a conversation.

"Have ye' even had anything to eat, Henrik? "

"Today? No, but I'll get something in just a moment," Henrik answered, "I promised my dove that I'd make sure to eat today."

Tavish stopped walking mid-step, pausing to look over at Henrik with his one eye.

"I'm not sure which part of that sentence I should be worried about. The fact that you're forgetting to eat or the fact that the only one holding you accountable is your pet bird," Tavish said, continuing his walk to the counter, "My usual drink, Jane, if ye' don't mind."

"Already started making it, " Jane replied, his back to Tavish.

“Thanks, Jane.”

Ash had been sitting at the table, doodling as they waited for a quiet moment, talked as soon as there was a lull in the conversation.

“Mr. Henrik sir?” They called over, getting their manager’s attention, “Do you have my schedule ready yet?”

“That your parrot?” Tavish asked Henrik quietly, sipping his drink as he slid the money over to Jane, “Got a nice bright plumage there.”

“Very funny, Tavish,” Henrik replied as he headed over to Ash.

“I thought so,”  Tavish said as he headed for the door, “Love to get ta’ know ya’, Ash, ye’ seem like a colorful person, but today I’ve got to run.  Maybe next time.”

Henrik watched Tavish run off, wishing him the best.  It was unusal for Tavish to be running later.  It was also unusual for Henrik to be running late, though, so maybe it was just one of those days.  Nights of grading papers, or doing paper work, could throw off a schedule.

“You didn’t have to come over here to ask, you know,” Henrik said gently to Ash, “You could have called.”

“I didn’t have your number, Henrik.”

“You could have called zhe shop,” Henrik said gently, reaching down into his satchel, “I do have zhe new schedule ready.  Why don’t you take a look and see if it vorks for you?”

Ash looked over the schedule, pulling out a notebook to write down their times without a word.

“All of it works for me,” They finally said, putting a smile on their face as they looked up at Henrik, “Would it be okay if I hung out around here until my shift today?  I’ll move if it gets busy, I promise.”

“That’s not a problem, but...” Henrik paused, “Are you sure you vant to be here zhat long?”

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing better to do today,” They replied, “But I’ll move if it gets busy.”

“You could take a table in zhe back,” Henrik offered, “The place doesn’t usually have too many sit-downs, the orders are mostly to-go around here.  You shouldn’t have to move if you’re back there.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll do that,” They said happily, scooping up their bag and sketchbook, “Thanks, Henrik.”

Henrik watched as Ash went to go sit at the table by the corner, and then went to go talk to Jane.  

“Did you have much trouble zhis morning, Jane?”

“No, sir!” Jane replied, standing up straight, “I managed the crowds just fine.”

“Vonderful,” Henrik replied with an approving nod, moving to place his satchel in an empty cabinet, “I knew you could manage it.  Zhank you for stepping up like zhat.  I very much appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” Jane said, “I was just doing my job, Henrik.”

“Doing a very good job of it too,” Henrik said, pausing to wash his hands at the sink.  Without turning around, Henrik already knew that there was a small, very small, smile on Jane’s face.  Praise was something the man thrived on, though he would never say it, and praise from a superior was one of the best rewards the man could get.

Despite his late arrival, Henrik stepped right into work, quickly trying to make up for leaving Jane alone to open up shop.  The two of them worked the next crowds well together, with Henrik only pausing to peek around the corner and check on Ash.  Nearing noon, Henrik grabbed a muffin out of the case, put the money in the register, so he didn’t have to wonder about any discrepancies later, and then called around the corner to Ash.

“Ash, I’m going to go check zhe inventory. Vould you like to look back here and get familiar vith vhere everyzhing is?” Henrik offered, “You can drop your backpack off in zhis cabinet if you’d rather not leave it out right now.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s empty in here right now,” Ash said, quickly standing up to go join Henrik, “It’s okay if I leave it here, right?”

“Certainly,” Henrik replied, “Jane, I trust you to vatch zhe front vhile Ash and I are in zhe back.” 

“You can count on me, sir,” Jane said with a nod, “I will watch this front like it has never been watched before.”

Satisfied with that answer, and happy to take his lunch break now, Henrik held the back door open for Ash as the they started to move past him.

“Now’s a weird time to do inventory, isn’t it?” Ash asked, “Doesn’t it usually happen later in the month?”

“Yes, but I had some employees stealing supplies,” Henrik replied, “I just check more often to make sure that they’re not somehow getting back in here somehow.  I trust everyone vorking here now, it’s others zhat I don’t.  Now, over here ve have zhe different types of coffee beans stored-”

The door swung shut behind them, cutting off the rest of Henrik’s lesson, not that Jane needed it.  He already knew where every single thing was back there, from the coffee to the sauces to every single grain of dust.  Jane knew that backroom as well as he knew the back of his hand.  

He didn’t have time to study the back of his hand right now, and to study for the quiz he was going to give himself later, because a car pulled up in the parking lot.  As Jane watched and waited for the customer to enter, he thought it was strange how much time the driver was taking to exit the vehicle.

The reason that no one had exited the car yet was because the passengers were in deep conversation.

Aren’t you going to go get coffee?” A dark-haired woman asked. her voice heavy with an accent.

“No,” Misha replied, “But you wanted coffee, Zhanna, so we are here.”

“I also wanted to see manager you talk about,” Zhanna said with a teasing smile.

“Should have said so,” Misha replied, pulling a Russian book out of a compartment separating him and his sister, “Would not have brought you.”

“Wanted coffee,” Zhanna said, glancing inside towards the counter, “Is that your manager?”

Misha, in the middle of putting his reading glasses on, looked up.  

“No,” He replied simply, handing a ten dollar bill to Zhanna, “Go in and get coffee now, or we leave.”

Zhanna smiled at him, taking the money out of his hand.

“Is Misha grumpy because he did not get to go to his coffee shop last night?”

“You were tired, Zhanna.  Had long flight.  Would not make you go out after that,” Misha replied simply, opening his book, “Getting coffee or not?”

“Zhanna is going,” She replied, unbuckling her seat belt, “Do you want drink?”

“Black coffee,” Misha said without looking up, “Want tall black coffee.”

Zhanna started to get out of the car, but stopped.

“Not going in?” She asked him.

“Does little Zhanna need a babysitter to go get coffee?” Misha asked, unable to resist teasing her, “Zhanna did not need babysitter to take surprise early flight to states.”

“No,” She huffed, “Is your manager not in there, Misha?”

“No.  Only works nights,” Misha responded, unaware of Henrik’s recent schedule change, “Never gone in the morning.”

Satisfied with that answer, Zhanna finally exited the vehicle and entered the shop.  Immediately, she looked up at the board, as if she was reading all of the possible words up there when she really wasn’t understanding much of it.  She had been making Misha practice speaking English with her, but they hadn’t practiced much reading yet.  

Maybe she should not have asked her brother to take her here yet, despite all that she had heard about this wonderful little shop.

“Want sweet coffee,” She finally said, looking at Jane, “Which ones are sweet?”

“Uh...Yes.”

For once, Jane was speechless, distracted by looking at the Goddess that had just entered the shop.  She was beautiful, tall, round and soft-looking, much curvier, and taller, than the petite stick woman that lived around here.

“A Frappé might work for you,” Jane finally said, still looking over Zhanna, “How much coffee flavor do you want?  Any?”

“You can have coffee drink without coffee taste?” Zhanna asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Ma’am!” Jane replied, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, “We can use a vanilla base instead of a coffee one, which’ll be much sweeter!”

“So only vanilla then?”

“No, uh, that’s just the base,” Jane said, “Then there can be more flavors added on to that.  We have chocolate, mint, pumpkin spice, strawberry-”

“That one, strawberry,” Zhanna said quickly, interrupting Jane, “Strawberry, the vanilla-strawberry, yes.”

“Strawberry Frappé, got it,” Jane said, “How big do you want it?”

“I want a tall,” She said, going off of the size Misha had said.  If it was called a tall, then it had to be huge.  Following this thought, Zhanna was disappointed by the size cup she saw Jane pull out.  

“That is tall?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What is bigger?”

Without a word, Jane pulled out the next size cup and held it out to her.

“That is very good,” She approved with a nod.

“What’s your name?” Jane asked, waiting with a sharpie in hand.

“Zhanna.”

“How do you spell that?”

“Zhanna.”

“Is that with a ‘Z’-?”

“Zhanna.”

Shrugging his shoulders, and embedding her beautiful name into his mind, Jane wrote something down on the cup and then started making her the frappé , with Zhanna eagerly awaiting it.

Fruit, fresh fruit, was a rarity out in the snowstorm-ridden part of Russia she had just left.  Her sisters, and her mother, were going to be joining them later, so it would be a good thing to know if this strawberry drink would be something to recommend to them.  

A quick glance towards the car, where Misha was engrossed in his book, reminded her she still had another drink to add to the order.

Hearing a drink being made, Henrik poked his head out of the back room.

“Jane, do you need help?” Henrik asked.

“No, sir, I have it under control,” Jane replied.

Henrik took a second to look at the customer, who was taking a second to look at him.  It was some woman that he didn’t recognize.  

Who was he expecting it to be?  Some Russian?

Suddenly, Henrik was very happy that Jane didn’t need his help.  He’d rather go busy himself with something else now.

“Keep up zhe good vork, Jane,” Henrik said as he disappeared from view once more.

Zhanna had looked at the man that had just appeared, and more importantly noticed his dark hair. but shrugged it off.  Misha may have talked about his manager’s dark hair, he had mentioned it once or twice, but her brother had already said that his manager didn’t work mornings.  

If she didn’t trust her big brother’s word, then who could she trust?

Jane, busy finishing up the woman’s drink, found himself disappointed that she had stopped talking.  He may have prided himself as a full-blooded American, but there was something about her accent that he just liked hearing.  It was new, interesting, unique - unique especially since he hadn’t ever met a certain Russian night regular -and he wanted to hear more of it.  

There was something that he could ask, wasn’t there?  The weather?  That might work...boring, but it might.  

No, actually, wait, he was just going to go with what popped into his head, the weather was too boring, and he was sure he could come up with something better to say.  

That couldn’t possibly fail.

He turned to hand her the drink, holding the pink frappé out to her.

“You look very round-”

“Need tall dark coffee,” Zhanna said,cutting him off to order her brother’s drink before she forgot.

There wasn’t much that phased Jane, but that had done it.  Somehow, he had been expecting a different response to his confession.

“Go on a date with me,” His words came out more like an order than a question.

“Get me tall dark coffee.” Zhanna countered, her words sounding like an order as well.

“We’ll go to a diner,” Jane decided as he poured the coffee, “An American one.”

“Will they have bear?”

“No...” Jane said slowly, sliding her drink to her.

“Good!” She said, relieved, “Zhanna wants steak.  Not bear steak.  Or chicken.  Not bear chicken.  Or hamburger. Not bear hamburger.  Just not bear.  Have had too much bear in life.”

“Won’t be a bear in sight,” Jane promised, grinning as he leaned closer on his arm to her, “Be the best American meal you’ve had.”

“And then we make love?” Zhanna asked, matching his grin and leaning in towards him.

"You bet your ass we do."

"I cannot wait."

"Then we get married?"

"Too soon.  My brother will not approve yet," Zhanna replied, "Let us just be lovers first."

"Let's get engaged then!"

Yes, let's!”

“Hmm, I should take my fiancée out on a date first,” Jane said, leaning back as he brought a hand to his chin in thought, “To celebrate the engagement...When works for you?”

“Any time is good right now.”

“Then how about Friday?” Jane asked, eager to get a date set up.

“Is perfect,” Zhanna replied, “And where do we meet?”

“At the Star Spangled Diner,” Jane replied, “We’ll meet at nine-thirty that night and have not-bear burgers.”

“You are talking wonderful,” Zhanna replied, handing the money for the drinks to Jane, “Zhanna is excited.  Will meet you there.”

Jane had a grin on his face the whole time he was putting the order in.  His gin got bigger when he touched her hand while giving Zhanna her change, and then while watching her head for the door.  

It was hard to believe that he had come into this shop a single man, this engagement felt down right perfect.

“You like your drink, cupcake?” He called out, checking before she left the building.

Zhanna took a sip of her strawberry pink frappé and her eyes lit up.

“Is one of best drinks in the whole world!” She smiled as she left, heading outside with a huge grin on her face.  

She had arrived to American a single woman, and in her first morning in this country, she had found the perfect fiancé.  This must be what is was like to live the American dream.

Henrik emerged from the back room, now that he had heard Zhanna leave, having heard a muffled conversation.  What got his attention, though, was that it had been a  _lot_ of muffled conversation.  Jane usually uttered as few words as he could, and was pretty straight to the point.  Hearing that he had been talking had gotten Henrik’s attention, but not enough for him to want to interrupt whatever they were talking about.  

Jane getting more personable was something that Henrik had been hoping to happen someday, he just didn’t expect it to happen so fast.

“Sounds like you vere having fun,” Henrik said, moving behind the counter to look for an excuse to be out here.

“I got engaged.” Jane replied simply.

“You-...Vhat?” Henrik asked, pausing as he looked at Jane.

“We’re going on a date first, but then we’ll be engaged,” Jane said, “Or maybe we’re already engaged, and we’re going on a date because of it.”

“I left you alone vith a customer and you got engaged?” Henrik asked, crouching down behind the counter to look through his bag, “How many times have you gotten engaged today zhen?”

“Just once.  To her.”

“To zhe lady zhat vas in here?”

“Yes, sir.”

Henrik said nothing as he continued to look through his bag, having decided he wanted a pen out of it.  As strange as the whole situation sounded, he was in no position to reprimand Jane, not with there being a satisfied customer.  

Even if Jane had gotten engaged during work hours, he had still done his job and wasn’t wasting time.  In fact, it sounded like one of the most efficient engagements Henrik had ever heard about, and Jane was nothing if efficient.  

“Congratulations,” Henrik finally said, “I vish you two zhe best.”

“Thank you, sir!”  Jane’s grin was not unlike that of Zhanna’s as she had headed outside.  When Zhanna entered the car again, Misha looked up from his book and over at his sister.  

“Took some time,” He said, taking the coffee that was held out to him, “What did you get?”  

“A strawberry drink and fiancé,”

“You mean frappé?”

“No, fiancé,” She replied dreamily, “I got engaged to man working there.”

Misha look up through the window, only seeing Jane due to Henrik’s still crouched position.

“What is name?”

“I do not know,” Zhanna replied with a shrug, “We have date Friday.  We are having not-bear.”

Misha frowned at his sister’s words, putting his book and glasses away in the middle compartment.

“I let you go into shop for drink and you come out engaged,” Misha said, putting the car in drive, “You are not going in anywhere else by self.  You might come out married.  Or divorced.”

Misha took a careful sip of the coffee and winced.  It was the same coffee he always got, but it tasted strange.  It hadn’t been made by the right person, so it tasted wrong. 

 He’d have to come back here later tonight, alone, now that Zhanna was rested somewhat after her flight. But for now, he was going to be heading to work and seeing if Zhanna could get that job he had recommended her for.

When Misha's car left the lot, it was empty, save for Jane's beat up clunker. The afternoon rush was going to be soon, the next rush was never far away in a coffee shop, and so Henrik made sure the others were ready. 

 Ash's time was coming up, and Jane's was close to ending, and the two of them made the swap. Henrik was amused watching Jane leave, the man had a new spring in his step, and got ready for the afternoon shift.

There wasn't much to get ready for right now. The two of them grew a bit bored, talking sometimes to pass the time. Eventually, after dealing with less than ten customers in the last hour, Henrik had an idea.

"Ash, since there is time, vhy don't you show me some of zhe latte art you vere talking about from before?" Henrik offered, "I'd love to see it."

Ash perked up at the offer, sitting up from their slouched position excitedly.

"You really wanna see it?" Ash asked, already getting things set up, "Um, okay, gotta get the milk heating up first, lemme do that. That's important, Henrik, it's gotta be just right or else it won't work as right. It might work, but it won't be  _as_ right. "

Henrik watched as Ash worked on getting everything they needed, brewing even their preferred type of coffee. Though Henrik had never learned anything about latte art, having been more concerned with comprehending flavor profiles and depths, he couldn't deny that he was generally curious about what he was about to see.

Ash had started to take the milk off of the heat when the bell sounded at the front door, signaling that there was another customer to deal with.  This man was tall, with lanky limbs.  He wore a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, covered by a vest with a ton of pockets, and a dark pair of slacks.  Strangest of all, he had some orange-tinted sunglasses, but he kept them on despite being inside.

"Good to see you, Mundy," Henrik greeted the lanky man by his name, "You are later zhan usual today."

"Had to shoot some kids," Mundy replied simply, looking in one of his vest pockets for something,  "Twitchy little hooligans wouldn't sit still."

"My condolences, " Henrik said, heading to the back room, "I'm sure zhat made your job much more difficult."

"It did, yeah, but it's still m'job," Mundy said with a shrug, checking another pocket, "Besides, there's not a lot that feels as good as gettin' the perfect headshot. Y'jus' line it up right an' then boom."

Ash, holding the hot milk, looked back and forth between Henrik and this Mundy guy with the deep Australian voice. Why were they talking about shooting and why were they both so relaxed about it?

Henrik reappeared from the back room with small bag of coffee, and he placed it down on the counter.

"Was gonna ask if you had another bag," Mundy said, holding his money out, which had been in a different pocket, "Didn't see one if m'kind out here."

"Supply was getting low, so I set it aside for you," Henrik said with a shrug, "If you didn't come by today, I was going to put it back out zhere."

"I always come by on Tuesdays. Why wouldn't I show?" Mundy asked, scratching at his cheek, "S' hard to be a regular of you don't show."

"You'd be surprised," Henrik muttered with a professional grin on his face, "Ash. Ash, sorry for zhe distraction. Is the milk ready yet?"

"Um, yeah," Ash replied, holding the coffee, "What do you want me to make?"

"Anyzhing you vant," Henrik responded calmly, handing Mundy his change and shutting the register, "Go ahead if you're ready."

Pausing to bite their lip, and nervously glance at the two men - Mundy having decided to stick around and see what they were doing - before starting on the design.

They were concentrating heavily, sticking their tongue out of the corner of their mouth, focusing on getting the art just right. After a moment, and a bit of fiddling with a toothpick, they placed the cup down on the counter so Henrik at least could see it.

“Is zhat...a rabbit?” Henrik asked, squinting at the design through his glasses.

“Yes,” Ash said quickly, “That’s not a problem is it?  I mean, you said to do what I wanted, and I like bunnies, so I did a bunny.”

“Your bunny is fantastic,” Henrik reassured Ash.

“Turn it here an’ lemme see,” Mundy said, craning his neck, “That’s incredible.  I even see the shape of it’s haunches.  How’d you do that?”

“I practiced a lot in my free time,” Ash replied with a smile, “It’s about the milk, and it’s also about the technique.  There’s a lot of wrist work that goes in to it.  I also used a toothpick to get some of the detail-”

“Like the fur?”

“Yeah, like the fur.  The eyes too,”

“That’s good stuff right there,” Mundy looked up at Ash, “Mind if I take a picture?”

“You want to take a picture of it?” Ash asked excitedly, “Go ahead, mister.”

“Thanks, Ash.  Mind if I call ya’ Ash?” Mundy asked, “pulling a slim digital camera out of his pants pocket, “Least this cup won’t be running away from me while I’m trying to get a picture done.”

“You’re a photographer, mister?”

“Yep, finally got out of the retail bizzo last year an’ started taking pictures for payment,” Mundy replied, looking at Ash over his sunglasses. “You can call me Mundy.  Mister makes me feel old.”

“How old are you?”

“Not as old as everyone seems to think,” Mundy replied with a wink, before turning back to Henrik, “That bunny there reminds me; you looking for any new pets, Henrik?”

“I- Yes,” Henrik said, “Yes, I vas actually.” 

“Got some birds, doves, that aren’t ready to be adopted yet, but thought I’d give you a heads up about,” Mundy replied, “They still need to be given the go-ahead by the vet.  One of them was hurt, and the other stopped eating for a bit.”

“Vhat happened?”

“Was at a wedding, I was there taking pictures for the lucky couple, and the doves were released at the end for the send off.  A hawk came swooping down and grabbed one of the birds.”

“Is the bird alright?” Ash asked worriedly.

“Yeah, don’t worry.  Picked up a rock an’ knocked the hawk away from the dove - m’aim’s always been pretty good so I got it in one throw - an’ scooped the injured bird up before the hawk could try again.  Left early, to get the bird some help, but I gave the couple a discount, so they were fine with it.”

“You said there were two birds, didn’t you?” Ash asked, taking Henrik’s question right out of his mouth,

“Yeah, I did.  The other birds were fine, the hawk left them alone after gettin’ a rock to the face, so the owner - the guy who runs the ‘doves flyin’ on weddings’ business around here - got all his birds back except for the injured boy.  Bird can’t fly quite right any more, one of his wings got damaged, so the guy doesn’t want to deal with it an’ gave him up.  The bird’s got a sibling, always been together, an’ after figuring out that his brother wasn’t comin’ back, he stopped eatin’.  The guy gave him up too.  Long story short; we got two doves on the mend, who’ll be put up for adoption soon, who hafta’ go together, an’ I thought maybe you’d want to go check ‘em out ahead of the crowd.”

“You think there might be a crowd?” Henrik asked, “Are doves that popular?”

“The shelter doesn’t deal with many birds, so I don’t know.  Might be there awhile, might be gone on the first day,” Mundy said with a shrug, “When they’re ready to be adopted, I’m gonna go take a picture of ‘em-”

“You take pictures of animals?” Ash asked quickly.

“Yup, I do.  For the shelter, I do it for free,” Mundy replied, turning his lanky form to look at Ash, “Gettin’ good pictures usually helps the animals get adopted faster.  People’d rather adopt a pet that looks playful rather’n on cowerin’ in a corner.”

“Do the animals need someone to play with?”

“Sure, they could use that.  They don’t get much social time, so playing would be good,” Mundy then, grinning a bit, added, “...Walking them could help too, Lorikeet.”

“You can walk them too?” Ash asked, “I want to go help.  Can I go help?”

“Yeah, you can.  Need to go fill out a volunteer form, they’d prefer that ya’ do, but they could use all the help they can get,” Mundy said, a small grin on his face, “Volunteer in your free time if ya’ can.”

“Oh, I can,” Ash replied, “I sometimes have lots of free time.”

“Alright, great.  The shelter on King and Hill street is the one you want.  That’s where you should go too, if ya’ want to check out the doves, Henrik,” Mundy said, “Yer’ lucky you get ta’ keep pets in your apartment.  I’m saving up for a camper, so I’ll get ta’ keep anything I want.”

“You want a camper so you can have a pet?” Ash asked.

“That’d be a bonus.  Also want to be able to an’ get early morning shots easier.  You ever see a forest at six in the morning, when an engine hasn’t ruined the mood?  When most of the animals are just gettin’ started, and the nocturnal ones are calling it a day?  When the sun rises and catches the morning mist, makin’ the perfect haze?  That’s also why I want a camper,” Mundy replied as he checked his watch, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need ta’ get goin’.  Got a family portrait I need to set up for, with all the kids in the family are all grown up.  Hope to see you at the shelter later, Henrik.  You too, Rosella.”

Offering a small wave, Mundy left the two workers standing there.  Henrik was left in thought, Ash was left holding the now cooled-off milk.  

“He has doves,” Henrik said slowly

“He likes animals,” Ash added.

“Two doves.”

“He’s a photographer.”

“I vas looking for two doves.”

“He likes animals too.”

“If zhey’re healthy enough, two vould be good.”

”He liked my art.”

Archimedes could use some companions.”

“He said I could go play with puppies.”

“Could zhat get any better?.”

“Could he get any better?”

“Vhat?”

“What?”

Henrik and Ash were looking at each other, an awkward silence between them.  They had both been talking over each other, and were slightly unaware of what the other had been saying.

“Um...” Ash started to say.

“You...Your latte art is incredible, Ash, very detailed,” Henrik said, pulling out his phone, “Zhank you for showing me.” 

“Who are you calling?”

“I’m going to call Scout.  I need to close zhe shop down early tonight, to see if I can get Conagher to help get my car fixed soon, so I’m going to see if he wants to come in an hour or so early to get all of his hours in today.”

“Oh, okay,” Ash replied, satisfied with that answer, “I’ll clean up some then.”

“Don’t mop the floors,” Henrik said, “Zhat’s his punishment.”

He looked over at Ash, who had a concerned look on their face.

“It’s just in case, Ash,” Henrik said, “I don’t plan on him having to do it until we close up for zhe night.”

While Henrik stepped away to make his call, Ash worked on cleaning up some of the things that they could.  They wiped the counter, and then wiped the case, and then dealt with the next customer that came in, obliviously ignoring any looks they got, and then cleaned up the case and counter again because the customer had gotten both of them dirty.  

You never realized how dirty people were until you needed to keep things clean.

“Scout’s showing up early,” Henrik said as he came back, “Your shifts vill be crossing over a bit more, so I hope you don’t mind. “

“It’s no problem,” Ash replied happily, “I didn’t really get to meet him before, so getting to work with him should be cool.”

Henrik was relieved by his words.  Sometimes, before, employees grew quite cross when others were pulled onto their shift.  Hopefully, Scout and Ash would be able to work well together.

An hour before his shift, Scout showed up without a word.  Shrugging off his jacket and sticking it in the open cabinet.  Ash offered Scout a wave but, much to Henrik’s surprise, the boy didn’t return the greeting.  The shop was quiet as Scout got ready for work.

“Who died?  Why you guys so quiet?” Scout finally asked.

“I vas vondering zhe same zhing.” Henrik said, making himself a small cup of tea to drink on his break, “Your day been alright, Scout?”

“Alright enough.  Red Sox lost,” Scout said with a shrug, “Been a good day at the shop, Henrik?  Are you sure you want to close it early, man?  Might have some late customers wantin’ to drop by.”

“Yes, I’m sure.  I vant to try to talk to Conagher before his place gets too rowdy tongith.  And, it’s been an interesting one at least,” Henrik said, taking a sip of his drink, “Mundy dropped by today, Scout.  You’ve heard about him, yes?”

“The Australian photographer guy who only buys bags of coffee, right?”

“Zhat is Mundy.  He said with a nod,  “He said they have some doves at zhe animal shelter.  I’m going to go check zhem out tomorrow possibly, maybe zhe day after.”

“Cool.  You’re gonna get your bird a friend?” 

“I zhink vith my long days, zhat she needs one,” Henrik took a sip of his tea, “Or two.”

“Anything else?”

“Decent amount of customers today, not all vere terrible, Jane got engaged, my car died,” Henrik said, looking up as he mentally ticked off the vday’s events, “As I said, it’s been an interesting day.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait,” Scout said, holding up a hand, “Jane got engaged?”

“He did, according to him,” Henrik replied, leaning back against the counter, “I left him alone to do some inventory, and to show Ash around zhe backroom, and vhen ve come out, he apparently got engaged.”

“Wait, Jane works in the morning,” Scout said, “Why was Ash here that early?”

“Zhey didn’t know their schedule, so zhey arrived early to figure it out.”

“And I thought it was easier to just hang out here for the day,” Ash interjected, “I got some sketching done.  It’s a nice place to just relax and get creative.”

“Good for you,” Scout said.  Ash may have missed the tone, but Henrik thought he heard some malice in the boy’s voice.  Maybe he was just tired, he had been here all day, it was probably nothing.

The rest of the Ash’s shift passed peacefully, with the occasional customer wandering in.  Scout seemed eager to serve most of them, and did most of the cleaning when it was needed.

After Ash left for the night, and Scout’s shift was nearing completion, Henrik felt the need to address something  Elbow deep in the sink probably wasn’t the best time to have this talk, but he didn’t feel like he could wait any longer to bring it up.

“Do you have a problem vith Ash?” Henrik finally asked, rinsing out one of the time numerous containers he had to clean.

“What?  Why would I-?” Scout said, putting more energy into his mopping, “No.”

“You barely talked to zhem zhe whole shift,” Henrik pointed out, “If you have a problem vith zhem, I’d like to know.  Vith as few of you as I have, I need everyone to get along.  I hope you understand zhat, Scout.”

“...I understand,” Scout responded, his mopping slowly down now, “Sorry, Henrik, I just...today wasn’t...I’ll do better, man.”

“Do you have a problem vith zhem specifically?” Henrik inquired, “Because you treated me just fine.”

“I-”

“As zhe senior employee here, I need you to act it,” Henrik continued, “If have to end up cutting your hours short to keep you two separated, I vill.”

“I said I was sorry, man, alright?  It won’t happen again,” Scout said, “Scout’s honor.”

Henrik was glad his back was to Scout, because he couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s promise.

“I’m holding you to zhat,” Henrik said, “If you two vork together again, I expect you to have much better behavior zhan zhat.”

“I will be.”

“If you ever need to have somezhing zhat you need to get off your chest, you and I can go talk in zhe back,” Henrik told him.

“Alright, I hear you,” Scout said, happy that his back was to his manager.  He couldn’t help but smile after Henrik’s offer.

“I can’t have you scaring Ash off,” Henrik continued, “Zhey are very important for zhe shop-”

Scout frowned again.

”-As are you, so I need you two to cooperate somewhat.”

Scout smiled again. Him being important to the shop, and not being replaced yet, was the best news that he had heard all day, and it helped him relax a bit.

With renewed vigor, Scout set to cleaning the place, set on making it sparkle.  They were done soon after that, with the place almost being locked up by the time that Scout’s ride showed up.  His mother exited the vehicle this time.

“Did my boy do a good job today?” She asked, snapping her gum with a grin.

“Certainly,” Henrik replied, adjusting the bag on his shoulder, “He’s one of zhe best employees ve have here.  Are you and Scout’s step-father doing alright?”

“We’re fine,” She said, “My Jules is actually out at a late job interview tonight.  S’why I came ta’ pick up Scout here.”

“I vish him luck,” Henrik said, tucking his apron tie back into it’s back, seemingly vanquishing it’s attempt at an escape.

“I’ll tell him” She responded, “Don’t see your car today.”

“It’s not available.”

“You need a ride, then?”

“No.  No zhank you,” Henrik replied, already walking out towards the sidewalk, “My place is not far from here, but I do appreciate it.”

Scout and his mother, acknowledging Henrik’s preferences, didn’t push him and let him walk.  They left soon after that, with Henrik starting the long walk back.

It was slow going, though, Henrik paused, taking a second to look back at the building and make sure the lights were off.  He knew the door was locked, he had checked that.  

Was he just trying to stall the inevitable walk back to his apartment?  

Probably.

Sighing, he forced his tired body to walk down the sidewalk.  Soon after he turned the left corner, a car started to drive up from the other end of the road, pulling into the parking lot of the shop.

Closed?  Now?  It was too earlier for that, wasn’t it?  

Misha gritted his teeth in frustration, pulling up closer to read the sign on the door.  It was an apology for closing early, with personal problems being cited as the reason why.  How could Misha be angry at that?  

Now, as he pulled away and continued down the road, taking a left, he hoped that Henrik wasn’t having too much of a personal problem.  

Maybe tomorrow, if could catch the man, Misha would figure if Henrik needed any help. 

And right now, Henrik did.  

He had only made it a block or two when a masked figure had appeared behind him, appearing seemingly from no where out of the shadows.  A gloved hand brought a knife up to the Henrik’s neck and forcing him out of sight and into an alleyway.

“Stay quiet and give me your money” the muffled voice said, the knife making it so Henrik could only face forward, “Scream and it will be the last thing you do.”

And, even as the sound of a car engine started to grow louder.

With the night starting out like this, Henrik was getting the feeling that maybe he should have accepted the ride he was offered, or maybe he should have actually taken the day off, or maybe even called in sick,

He just hoped tomorrow he wouldn’t have to call in dead.


	4. Alright, But Not All Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was originally posted at: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/127893426262/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-4  
> Likes and reblogs appreciated, but are by no means required. =)

The blade of the knife was pressed against his throat, every time he swallowed his Adam’s apple brushed the weapon, and Henrik had no idea what to do.  He didn’t dare try to fight, not when his attacker had an upper hand and was out of sight like this. He didn’t dare try to call out as a car drove by, or when it stopped about a block away.

“Give me your money,” the hoarse voice said, a voice that made Henrik feel like death itself was talking to him.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much on me,” Henrik said, reaching down into his pocket, “But I’ll give you vhat I’ve got.”

When he spoke, he felt the person twitch in surprise. Were they a druggie who was on a high right now and surprised to hear a voice? Were they just a thug who was surprised by manners? Maybe that was it. If nothing else, Henrik would give it a try.

“Do you vant just bills? Or vould you like zhe change too?” Henrik asked, “I brought a ten to vork, but after buying some zhings, I have two and some change. ”

“Only two dollars?” The harsh voice asked, caught off-guard by Henrik’s response, “What’s in zhe bag?”

“Papervork. Und part of my vork uniform,” Henrik said, “But unless you plan on filing zhe papers and filling in my role at work, I’d rather you not take zhat.”

“Do you really only have two dollars?”

“Ja,” Henrik said, “I have a credit card, but ve both know I’d cancel it zhe minute I could, so to save us both some frustration, I zhink ve shouldn’t even bother with it.”

“Uh, of course. ”

“I’ve dealt vith it before, vith some help, it vas quite a headache,” Henrik said, pulling his money out of his pocket and holding it out slightly to the side, “Here you are; two and some change.”

The knife was pulled away from his throat.

“Put your money away, I do not want it,” The voice said.

Henrik, unsure and worried about want was going to happen to him now, pocketed the money.  He was hoping that in his calm chatter, and trying to reminder the mugger that he was a human too, that he hadn’t given the thug the idea to kill him for his credit cards.

Instead of being killed, Henrik felt a harsh shove on his back, sending him forward.

“Leave.  Walk away,” The voice said, “Do not look back, do not tell any authorities, nothing happened here.  Now go.”

Henrik knew enough to keep his mouth shut and go.  He walked as quickly as he could out of the alleyway, and then he ran past the buildings, past the car, past the owner, not daring to look around.  As tired as he was, he didn’t stop running until he was up in his apartment, panting and shaking with exhaustion and fear.

As he collapsed onto the couch, trying to calm himself down, his bird gently flew over and landed on his slumped shoulder.  He pulled his heads out of his hands and glanced over at Archimedes.

He didn’t even try to speak, he was too busy catching his breath to do that, and instead started lightly stroking his bird.  The action helped serve to calm him down after that confrontation.  

And Henrik wasn’t the only one needing to calm down after that moment in the alleyway.  

Julien felt terrible.

He had run away, removing the ski mask, pocketed the practice butterfly knife he had used, which was harmless, but still threatening looking. Once he was out of sight, and a safe distance away, he had lit up a cigarette.  He needed to stop smoking, he knew that, but after what had just happened, after what he just tried to do, he needed it.

What he been thinking?  He was desperate, his whole family was.  He thought maybe he’d be able to mug one or two people and get some cash.

Apparently it wasn’t that easy.  He didn’t realize how nerve-wracking it actually was, how it would feel to actually mug someone, how it would feel to try to accidentally mug someone he knew.  If he was going to have a successful robbery, one that he didn’t feel to guilty about, he was going to have to hit a business, a major corporation that wouldn’t be hurt by the loss.  

Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled the mask back on and started walking towards the closest business that fit the description, a restaurant that offered the opportunity for some quick, needed, cash.

He should be heading back to home to his wife and step-son, not preparing to hold up a business.  Though he resolved to go through with this one heist, he still felt terrible about it.

As terrible as he was feeling right now, he could only imagine what Henrik was feeling now, all thanks to him.

Henrik was still a nervous wreck.  Maybe it was the exhaustion heightening his panic and keeping his mind from calming down.  He needed to talk to someone, and his bird wasn’t going to be reassuring him like he needed.  

Pulling out his phone, he managed to scroll down to the contacts until he found the number he was looking for.  Taking a deep breath, he put the phone to his ear and listened as the phone rang, hoping that the other party had time not only to answer it, but to talk as well.

“Conagher’s” The smooth southern voice on the other end answered.

“Dell, it’s Henrik,” The German replied, “Is your place busy?  Do you have time to talk?”

“Sure, I do.  Not too busy right now, so don’t you worry about that,” Conagher reassured him, “Got a few regulars here, and a bunch of older men _who need to settle down_.”

Henrik pulled the phone away from his ear as Dell shouted at the group.  It took a lot for Conagher to raise his voice, something must be going on that bothered him.

“Is everzhing alright?” Henrik asked after a moment, daring to hold the phone back to his ear.

“It is now.  As a bar, I don’t mind noise, but there’s a difference between friendly chatter and bugging my other customers,” He pulled the phone away and called out again, “Keep them settled, Ty, don’t make me come over there and do it myself.”

There was a muffled reply and, whatever was said, it seemed to pacify the normally calm Texan.

“Sorry ‘bout then, Doc,” Conagher apologized, using the nickname he had given Henrik, “You alright?  Ya’ sounded kinda nervous when you first called me.”

“I-I did?” Henrik asked, “Oh, I didn’t mean to sound like that.  I mean, I am nervous, after zhat  But, ah-”

“But what?” Dell asked, “The last time you used that tone, you just found out that your wife wanted a divorce.  What’s going on, Henrik?”

“I vas..ah, how do you say zhis?”  Henrik paused, “I vas…not robbed? ”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, as Dell mulled over what Henrik had just said and what it had the German so bothered.

“That…sounds like a _good_  thing, Doc,” Dell said, “Tell me what happened.”

“I valked back to my apartment tonight, because my car’s not running properly, and a man pulled me into the alley and held a knife to my throat and told me to give him all my money.”

“Are you alright?”

“I am fine.  He didn’t vant my money, it vas only two dollars and some, and then he pushed me away.  I ran.”

“Don’t blame you for that, Doc,” Dell continued, “You get the police yet?”

“No.” Henrik said, “Vhat do you vant me to do?  Call zhem up and say I vasn’t robbed?”

“Well, no-”

“Zhen zhere is nothing to call zhem for,” Henrik said quickly.

“…Is there a reason you don’t want to call the cops?  I would think that a thug on the loose like that would warrant their concern-”

“Nothing happened.  Zhat’s zhe end of it,” Henrik said, “Zhe last zhing I need is for anything negative, even only partially related to my business, to be even hinted at.”

“Don’t think they’re gonna stick you or your shop on the front page, Doc.”

“I’m not calling zhem, Dell, and neither are you.  Nothing happened, no one else is going to find out about it, and zhat is final.”

“I- Alright, Henrik, you win this time.  Won’t speak a word of this to anyone, and I won’t bring it up again,” Conagher conceded, “But, tell me this.  When’d your car die?”

“Zhis morning,” Henrik’s answered, feeling almost guilty, “If I had known you vere back in town, I vould have called you.”

“Not a problem,” Dell replied, “You got time tomorrow for me to look at it?  My schedule’s pretty darn flexible.”

That was a known fact.  Conagher may have owned a bar, but he didn’t have to worry about making a profit.  With his family’s money, and what he had made off of his inventions, the man could suffer some heavy losses for a while until he had to be concerned.  He could close up the shop whenever he felt like; that was part of the reason that the place didn’t have a set schedule.  One never knew if Conagher’s was going to be open or not.

“I’m at vork from five forty five until ten,” Henrik answered.

“Alright, I’ll meet you at noon, then.”

“…Five forty five AM until ten PM.”

“You’re working eighteen hour days?”

“Until the shop picks up more employees, and I get a replacement manager, yes.”

“That’s a bit harsh on a body, Henrik.  You’re gonna break down soon if you keep that up for more than a few days,” He paused, “Just how long have you been doing that?”

“…A little over two weeks?”

“I leave town for a few weeks and then all of a sudden you jam-pack your schedule full?” Conagher said, “Henrik, are you trying to avoid living and and getting to know anyone here?

“I’ve know plenty of people because of the shop.  My regulars,” Henrik protested, “In fact, Mundy dropped by here just yesterday."

“”Yeah?  Mundy, huh?  What’s his favorite color?

“…Blue?”

“It’s red.  The color you find in sunrises.  He drops by here sometimes, so I know that for a fact,” Dell said, “You need to take some time off.”

“I can’t”

“Can’t?”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“…Can’t.” Henrik said after a pause.  It was a pause that had Dell sighing into the phone.

“Tavish is having a party Friday, to celebrate finals week being over.  He tell you yet?”

“He did.  I’m going.”

“Good.  Better see you there,” Dell said, "Now, about your car.  I’ll meet you tomorrow night after ten.  Where’s the car?”

“At my apartment building.”

“Alright, I know where that is,” Dell said, scribbling down the appointment on a scrap of paper, “See you then.  Oh, and Henrik?  Might want to walk a different route tomorrow.  Stay safe, Doc.”

“I vill certainly try,” Henrik said, “Zhank you, Dell.”

Henrik hung up his cell phone and clicked it shut.  Maybe he should take the day off tomorrow.  It was just a Thursday, hardly one of the busier days.  Maybe he should call Jane and tell the man that there was no reason for him to show up tomorrow, because the shop was going to be closed if Henrik took time off.

As Henrik’s finger hovered over the call button, his phone let out a shrill beep.  The screen turned black except for a small box that informed him that his battery had died and that he needed to charge his phone.  

But to do that, he needed to find the cord.  Where had he left that?

He needed to charge his phone up, so he had to find the cord quickly.  Outside of the shop, it was of the only ways to reach him.  After a bit of hunting, he discovered that his bird - or he assumed that it was his bird - had flown the cord up on top of a bookshelf, along with a scrap-paper nest, a spare pair of his glasses, three different socks, and two different gloves, that somehow didn’t match at all, and his scarf.

That was quite a collection that Archimedes had accumulated up there.  An interesting assortment of items that seemed to have been specifically snatched for Archimedes’ secret spot.  

Henrik had thought he owned a dove, not a cat with wings.  

He might have to rethink that.

He left the nest, and two socks with holes in them, but took everything else down from there.  He then also resolved to go search his dresser for more holey socks tonight, and his closet for one of his old scarves, to replace what he was taking back.

His bird flew over and landed on his shoulder, rubbing against his face.  Was Archimedes trying to apologize to him?

“Shh, no, you don’t need to do zhat,” Henrik said, gently petting his bird with a finger, “I understand.  You’re lonely.  I’ll fix that, I promise.  Mundy told me zhat zhere are some doves to go look at, and I’ll do zhat tommorow, during my lunch break, alright?”

Archimedes cooed, happy that her papa was back home and that he was calmer now.  He had seemed to worried before, so nervous.  This was better, so much better.

Henrik was definitely calmer now, even if only a bit.  His phone call with Dell, a very steady soul, and his the small search for the cord, a quiet task with no to pressure behind it, had served to calm him down from his near-death experience in the alley.

All in all, despite having a knife held to his throat, he was actually feeling pretty good.  Dell was going to look at his car, he was going to get Archimedes some companions...

So why was he still so nervous?

While he made dinner, while he ate it, while he talked with Archimedes, and while he cleaned up afterward, he still felt panicked.  A voice in the back of his head kept saying that he wasn’t alright, even while he set the sleeping Archimedes back in her open cage, that despite being back in his apartment, he wasn’t safe.

And when he sat down on the edge of his bed, he had never felt more awake in his life.

Dell’s reassurances had faded now that Henrik was no longer talking to the man, and now there was just worry floating through his mind.  Worry and guilt.

After checking his alarm, he stood up to walk around, to get a drink, to try to find a way to get to sleep somehow.  Perhaps the sandman was up for a game of hide and seek, and Henrik’s reward for finding him, either by reading, watching TV, or some other way, would be an exclusive trip to dreamland.

“Should he have to the the police?” He wondered as he searched for the remote, “Was it wrong for him to have not?”

“What if someone got hurt because he hadn’t?” He thought as he sat on the couch, “Would that be on him?”

“Why had the thug let him go?” He pondered as he stood back up, “Why had the man changed his mind?”

“Was he overthinking all of this?” He cogitated, “Should he get some milk tomorrow?”

He could answer that last question easily with a strong “probably”.  The others, though, were not as easily answered.  Was there even a right answer to be had?  Was there a wrong one?  He had done what he thought was right for him, that’s what counted, didn’t it?

If there was ever a moment to wish for a cigarette, it was now.  He had kicked the habit long ago, he knew it was terrible for him, but his former wife’s insistence, also called nagging, is what helped him beat it.  

Part of the reason that he hadn’t started again was because it wasn’t fair for Archimedes to have to breathe in the smokey air.  He would be breathing it by choice, she would be breathing it by force.  That thought alone, that it would harm his pet dove, had kept him from picking up he habit again.  In fact, he had picked up the bird so he would have a reason not to pick up the habit again.  It was a trade-off he was very thankful to have made.

There probably wasn’t even a cigarette to be found in his apartment.  No, he knew there wasn’t.   He had moved here after the divorce, after he had stopped, so he probably wouldn’t have brought any with him.  

And for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to throw on a coat over his pajamas and go walking the dark streets, past the dark alleys, to get one.  Call him a coward, but he didn’t see the reason to tempt fate twice in the same night.

He didn’t even have any alcohol around his apartment, not anymore.  He didn’t like to drink it that much nowadays, thankfully because he had no reason to right now, and saw no point in keeping it around to tempt him to start up again.  He had thought that if he ever needed any alcohol, if a craving him, he could just as easily go out and get some.

He wasn’t going to do that anymore.  Not now.  He could go without for tonight, even if he thought a drink would help soothe his frazzling nerves. It probably would have, actually; it had calmed him before, many times, when he had needed it too.

Tea, he decided.  He’d have some tea.  It wouldn't offer the same mind-numbing as gulping down some alcohol would, but maybe the tea would help him calm down enough to get some sleep.

Taking his time to brew a cup, and let it steep so that it tasted like more than cloudy water, he went into the living room and sat on the couch, flipping through the channels.  Aside from reruns of a sitcom, an informational for a knife, one that he watched for way too long, and the news, there was nothing on.  There was a byline on the bottom that said that a fast food place had been robbed, but Henrik found that he really just wasn’t in the mood to listen to that story and turned the TV off.

By this point, he had forgotten about his tea and he had to reheat it.  While it was in the microwave, he thought that he’d use the time to go find a book to read, to help him relax, while he drank his tea.  It took three trips between the bookshelf, to find a book, and the microwave, to keep reheating the tea that he was forgetting about, before he decided that he didn’t want to read anything either.

It was strange.  He was in the mood to do something, to do everything, but he there was nothing he wanted to do.  Nothing held his interest, so he just sat down and started to drink the tea, just trying to make up some deep breathing exercises from memory.  

The tick-tock of the clock on the wall was getting on his nerves, so he moved to living room.  There, he was fine, starting to feel calm.  

Or at least he was until the people in the apartment above him decided to get up and stomp around.  They had to be stomping, there was no way that they weren’t taking the loudest and heaviest steps that they could.  Or, if they were walking quietly, they might land in his apartment if they tried to stomp.  That would be very messy.

Upon thinking this, Henrik realized that he probably should be going to bed.  His tea was finished, he was actually starting to feel relaxed, so he should probably go to bed.

So, not even bothering to put his mug back in the kitchen, and instead leaving it on the coffee table, Henrik bumbled to bed.

It had been such a long night, and now he was feeling very tired.  He slowly sat down on the edge of his bed and started to lay down, too tired to even pull the blanket up around him.  He closed his eyes and started to drift off.

Then the alarm went off.  

The loud, blaring, shrill, awful,  _awful_  noise cut right through whatever dreams were getting ready to start up.  The abominable device screeched at Henrik that it was time to get up and start getting ready for work, that it was time to vacate the bed that he had just laid down in and make himself go to work.  

He didn’t want to.  God, after a night like that, he didn’t want to.

But did he?

Of course.  It was his duty to open that shop and run it, and it wasn’t a duty that he was going to shirk away from.  Even if he owned almost half of the business, he was going to get over there and work his tail off.

First, though, he had to drag his behind out of bed.  He did, but it was very reluctant.

He got dressed, grabbed his bag, kissed his bird goodbye and left the apartment, coming back a minute later to get his phone, which he had left charging, then leaving again.  Another minute and he returned once more, this time to get his shoes, which he had forgotten.  He found himself in his bathroom before he remembered that he had been heading for the apartment door.

Today was going to be a very long day.

Henrik started walking down the sidewalk, stumbling a bit until he got his tired legs to start working properly again.  Tavish, thank god, pulled up a moment later.  Without a word, and only a quiet honk of the horn to let Henrik know he was there, he pulled over and let Henrik join him for the drive.

The drive was strange, and Henrik couldn’t put his finger on why.  It took two red lights for him to figure it out.  It was because it was so quiet.  Normally Tavish was the life of a party, bringing an interesting conversation with him everywhere he went.  Before he could say anything,  or ask any questions, Tavish spoke.

“You too?” The Scotsman asked, leaving a seemingly cryptic question, and it’s proper answer, up in the air.  Upon a closer look, though, Henrik realized that Tavish had bags beneath his eye, denoting a lack of sleep for him as well.

“Yes,” Henrik answered, “Are you alright?”

“Honestly?” Tavish asked, turning a corner, “No.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“Ah,” Henrik said, unsure of what else to say, “Alright zhen.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, until Tavish broke the silence once again.

“You alright?” He asked Henrik.

“Um..” Henrik paused, wondering if he was alright or not, “… I suppose.”

“So a ‘no’ then?”

“No, no,” Henrik said with a shake of his head, “More of a maybe.”

“An iffy alright?  Alright.”

There was another red light.  This time, looking over at the driver, Henrik’s eyes widened with curiosity.  Now that he was no longer driving, Tavish leaned back and looked up, blinking his eye more than normal.  His breathing was quick, almost ragged, and he held his shaking, clenched hands in his lap.  

Clearly, the man was not alright.

“Tavish, do you need to talk?” Henrik asked, “I’m willing to listen, if you need to.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Tavish said with a shake of his head, resuming his driving once the light turned green, “Nothing to do about it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He asked, “I need to get my bloody composure before I go into that classroom and give a group of high school students their chemistry final.  I can’t go in there like this, that’s not fair to the wee kids.”

“Why don’t you get substitute?”

 _“I am the bloody substitute_!” Tavish half-screamed, slamming on the brakes as he noticed the stop sign he almost passed.

He clenched the steering wheel, breathing deeply for a minute as he calmed himself down.

“I’m sorry, Henrik, I didn’t mean to yell at ye’,” Tavish said quietly, “It’s not fair to take it out on ye’ at all.”

“I vork as a barista, Tavish, I am able to take people yelling at me,” Henrik said, “Take it out on me if you need to.  I understand.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Tavish said as they neared the coffee shop, “Don’t worry about it, Henrik, there’s nothing ye’ or I can do.”

“You know, ve don’t have to go anyvhere Friday,” Henrik offered, “Your party can vait until you feel better, don’t let us pressure to hold it.”

“You’re looking for an excuse to not go, aren’t ye’, Henrik?” Tavish asked, managed to get a laugh out of the situation, “No, no.  I need that party tomorrow, need to get wasted.  Been too long since I had a drink.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Believe me, Hen, I am.”

As Tavish parked the car, Henrik stayed quiet, looking the stressed man over.

“Are you coming in for coffee?” Henrik asked.

“No, don’t think I should,” Tavish said, “Love Jane to death, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think I can deal with him right now.”

“Do you have a moment to vait?”

“Aye?”

“Zhen hold on, please,” Henrik said as he exited the car, “I vill be right back.”

Henrik exited the car, unlocked his shop, and flicked on the lights.  Normally, he would start the day by taking the chairs off of the tables and flipping them upright, or by getting his apron out, but instead he headed straight for the counter.  Cleaning the machines as he went, he prepared Tavish’s drink, even before the shop was officially open, and returned out to the car.

“Here, take it,” Henrik said after Tavish rolled down the window.

“Oh, Henrik, ye’ didn’t have to do that,” Tavish said, taking the drink and putting it in the cup holder, “I’ll pay you here, just a sec-”

“No, I meant for you to take it,” Henrik said, waving away any money Tavish offered, “It’s yours, Tavish.  I doubt it does much, but perhaps it can help make your day a little better.  Perhaps.”

Tavish grinned, one of the first sincere smiles that Henrik had seen from the man since the ride started.

“I think it already has,” Tavish said, pausing to put the car in reverse, “I hope your day manages to get better too, Henrik.  See ye’ tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Henrik said, giving Tavish a wave as he pulled away, “See you zhen.”

After Tavish left, Henrik headed back inside, getting the shop ready to open.  He also marked the free drink down in his book so that he didn’t give himself too much of a headache later when he went over inventory. Jane joined him a few minutes later, the man having a some scratches and cuts on his arms.

“Vhat happened to you?” Henrik asked a few minutes, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

“Was dealing with a raccoon in the garbage,” Jane replied, tying his apron on.

“Vere you trying to drive it away or vere you trying to catch it?

“Yes!”

“Meaning?” Henrik asked, raising an eyebrow at the man while he cleaned out a pitcher.

“Yes.” Jane replied seriously.

“Alright zhen,” Henrik said, putting the pitcher down, “Today I’m going to be taking my lunch break and going somewhere.  It vill be up to you and Ash to vatch the store together.”

“The hippie?”

“Zhey’re not a hippie, Jane,” Henrik said, “I need you to watch out for them, while I’m going, and after I get back, and just look out for zhem, alright?”

“You can count on me, sir,” Jane said, giving Henrik a salute, “I will give it my best today and watch out for the they-hippie and protect them as needed.”

It have not been the best promise that Henrik had ever heard, but it was good enough.  Anything Jane promised, for better or for worse, was upheld by the man as best he could.

The two of them opened up the shop and dealt with the small clumps of crowds that sporadically appeared, with Ash joining them a little before one.  They strode into the store, a tad bit earlier for their shift, and noticed Henrik taking off his apron.

“Are you going somewhere?” They asked, moving closer to Henrik.

“Yes, I’m going to the animal shelter Mundy told us about yesterday,” He replied with a smile, “I don’t have much free time, so I need to take advantage of what little I do get.”

“Um, Mundy?  Mundy,” They said, biting their lip nervously, “Mister Henrik, um, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Henrik replied, “Vhat is it?”

“I mean, this sounds bad, and I’m sorry to ask, but I really had to, you gotta understand that, I have to, I’m sorry-”

“Go ahead, Ash,” He said, “I won’t get angry, if zhat’s vhat you’re worried about.”

“Yeah, that kinda was.  You promise?” They asked, pausing until Henrik nodded, “Can I have my paycheck early?  Like, the month’s?  Or two weeks, I can take two weeks, I just kinda need some money now because I didn’t get any when I lost my job and I’m really happy to have this job, I love it, but I kinda need some money now.  Or by next week.  So I was wondering if that was possible at all kinda sorta maybe?”

“Can you tell me why?”

“…Because reasons?”

“I see.  I can’t promise anything, Ash, I need you to understand that, but-” He paused when he saw them frown, “ _But,_ I vill go over zhe books tonight, and see how much I can give you.”

Ash’s face blossomed out into a relieved grin, and they clasped their hands in front of their baggy sweatshirt, obviously displaying that this conversation had gone better than expected.

“I can’t make any promises, Ash, remember zhat,” Henrik said again, “And I can’t do zhis often.  I need you to realize zhat, alright?  If it happens, it needs to be an exception.”

“I understand, Mister Henrik, believe me I understand, but my landlord won’t-” They clasped their hands over their mouth, blushing now that they had blurted out their reasoning for asking for an advancement.

“Ah, rent.  I can sympathize vith zhat,” Henrik said as he pulled his bag over his shoulder, “You’re vorking vith Jane while I’m gone.  Please look out for him.  He’ll be doing zhe same.  Make me proud.”

“I will,” They blurted out again, their face getting redder, “I’ll make you make proud, Mister Henrik.”

“I’m glad to hear zhat,” Henrik said as he started to leave, “Zhe bathroom is over there.  It’s unisex.  I suggest you go splash your face to cool yourself off, Ash.  I’ll be returning soon.”

Henrik paused at the door.

“Jane, I’m leaving,” He called out, “Ash is here.”

“Goodbye, sir!” Came a loud voice from the back room, “I will greet the they-hippie!”

“The they-hippie?” Ash asked.

“It’s a term of endearment?” Henrik tried, bur Aah’s face clearly showed that they didn’t believe that, “If you could pretend you didn’t hear zhat, if vould be vonderful.”

“…So about that advancement?”

“I’ll check it tonight.”

“I didn’t hear thing.”

“Behave you two,” Henrik said before he left, “No shenanigans of any kind.  Even the unintentional ones.”

Ash was left pondering what that meant, or if unintentional shenanigans happened here often.  From what they knew, out of anyone here, Jane seemed like the most likely candidate to be pulling a lot of unintentional shenanigans.

Eventually, after Ash got themselves ready, and splashed their face, Jane emerged from the back.  For the most part, they worked well together, with Jane even taking the cups that Ash handed them.  Mostly, though, Jane took the orders, handling the front counter, and Ash made them, happy to stay behind him and work.  It was a system that they had silently developed, and it worked well.

After noticing a small puddle of coffee, a kid seemed to have dropped a drink sample that had been set out, Ash pulled the mop out of the back, moving past Jane who was looking for the African coffee beans.  Ash knew where they were, far left pallet, way in the back, next to the Arabic ones, but since they didn’t have a crowd to deal with, Ash felt that it was better for Jane’s pride, and in turn themself, to let their co-worker find it on their own.

They got to mopping, whistling quietly, and working only on that one spot.  Henrik said that mopping was Scout’s thing, so they were only going to clean this one, tiny, small, little dirty spot and leave the rest of the floor for their later co-worker.  After mopping a little bit, they moved the cart to the side and started wiping at a small puddle on the sugar and flavor powder counter with a rag.

“Did a rainbow throw up on you?” A male voice asked behind them.  Apparently a customer had entered the shop.

“Ha, yeah, it was a mess,” Ash said, giving the customers, there was a girl too apparently, a nervous smile.

“What are you?” The girl asked, her voice having a hint of disgust.  

“I’m Ash,” They replied, picking up the pace of their mopping, “Nice to meet you.”

“Are you a girl or a boy?”

“Both.  Neither.  I’m an alien.” Ash said, words flying out of their mouth faster than they could think them through.  Dealing with…inquisitive customers like this was a lot more terrifying when there wasn’t a counter separating you from them.  

“You’re a freak,” She said, looking Ash up and down.

Was Henrik supposed to be back soon?  A quick glance at the clock told Ash that he should already be back by now.  Henrik was late at the very worst possible time.

“Are you a girl freak or a boy freak?” The guy asked, stepping closer, “You don’t even seem to know.  We’re gonna help you find out.”

Before Ash could react, the guy had reached around their apron and grabbed the bottom of their sweatshirt.  Ash put their hands down, trying their best to keep the shirt from being lifted past their belly button.

Before it got that high, though, there was a blur of motion, because of either speed or because Ash felt faint, and then all of a sudden the guy was no longer holding on to their clothes.

Jane, however, was holding on to the guy by the collar of his shirt, keeping the man dangling in the air.  One of the barista’s arms was pulled back, as if he was getting ready to punch the man right in the kisser.  

As gentle as Ash was, they kinda found themselves wanting him to.

Henrik was currently heading up the sidewalk to the shop, and he was in a very good mood. The doves looked great, they had just been for okayed for release by a vet today, and he was welcome to pick them up anytime in the next few days, tonight included.

He had even managed to catch a short nap on his way over there. He had accidentally fallen asleep on the bus and missed his stop by a few blocks, yes, but a nap was still a nap, no matter where you ended up.

That good mood came crashing down the minute he entered the store and saw Jane about to hit a customer

"Jane, stop!” He called out, racing over to him, “Put the nice man down!  Zhere vill be no punching anyone in zhis establishment!”

“He attacked Ash,” Jane replied, not making a move to let him go, “No one attacks my co-workers and gets away with it.”

“Is zhis true?” Henrik asked, looking at Ash.

“He pulled my shirt up. He tried to. Jane stopped him,” Ash said, trying not to cry, “I’m sorry.”

“Zhis is not your fault, Ash, don’t apologize.  Jane, I still need you to put zhe man down,” Henrik said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, “Keep hold a moment longer, but put him down.”

His cell phone in hand now, Henrik flipped it open and fumbled with it, try to find the camera.  Finally, he found it.

“Smile,” He told the customer.  It was another minute until he figured  _how_  to take pictures with the phone, and, once it was done, there was an audible shutter sound.

“I’m going to sue!” The man said, unfortunately regaining speech, “Her father’s a lawyer, I’ll sue.”

“He’s a mailma-” She started to say.

“He’s a lawyer,” The man said again, “I’ll tell him that I was assaulted by your barista, you’ll be paying out the ass, and you can kiss this shop goodbye, old man.”

I’m a lawyer!” Jane growled, “I’m going to be after I pass the bar.  You weren’t assaulted because I didn’t hit you.  You were just picked up.  Babies would be assaulted everyday if they were the same thing!”

“I know a better lawyer!” The man screeched.

Merely giving the man a look, Henrik went back to looking at his phone, calling someone a moment later.

“Miss Pauling?  I have a quick question for you, if you have a moment to talk,” He said, “Officer Pauling, you’re on duty now.  I apologize.  You’re hoping to be a detective soon?  I’m sure you’ll pass zhe test just fine.  Good luck vith zhat, but I doubt you need it.”

Henrik couldn’t deny that watching the obnoxious man face pale brought him a sense of satisfaction.  Customers that harassed him, he could deal with on his own, but ones that harassed his baristas, especially ones like Ash, they weren't going to get off easily.  If nothing else, he’d give them a good scare.

“Yes, my question.  I’ll keep zhis quick.  I’m also trying to piece everything together, so please bear vith me,” Henrik continued, “If a customer attempted to do somezhing like, lift up my barista’s shirt...vithout permission, yes, can zhey be charged?  Might be assault?...”

“It was an accident!” The man cried, “It happened by accident!”

Zhat vorks” Henrik said into the phone, turning to look at Ash, “....Were zhey doing anyzhing else, Ash?  Verbal attack, any other physical assault, stealing candy from a baby, anyzhing?”

“They weren’t talking nicely.”

“Did zhey say zhat anything along the lines of lifting up your shirt?”

“Yeah, they said they were gonna...gonna find out  _what_ I am.”

“That reveals intent!”  Jane said.

Henrik concurred, “It vas hardly an accident.”

“Are you taking the freak’s word over his?” The woman said.

“Yes,” Henrik said simply, “I vill also be taking zhe security camera’s word over yours.  What’s that?”

There was some talking on the phone, and Henrik brought it back up to his ear.

“Do I need you to come over?  Well...I don-”

“I demand to talk to a lawyer!” The girl shrieked.

“You’re talking to one now!” Jane said back.

“Actually...” Henrik turned away from the group and spoke quietly into the phone, “If I have their picture, and they're on the camera, how would I, and my barista, go about getting a restraining order?  I just need to keep them out of my shop, but I’m worried for Ash.  Could you drop by later at zhe end of zheir shift, before zhey leave, and help zhem with zhat?  Maybe escort zhem too.  I’ll make a Café bombón just for you.  Bribery?  I would never.  I just know you like zhe drink..  I know you would never accept bribery, officer.   Zhank you.  What do I do vith zhem now?  Alright, zhank you.”

He turned back to the customers, and his baristas.

“Ash, do you vish to charge zhem?”

“Me?” Ash asked, “Um, no.  No, no.  I don’t want to get into a mess like that.”

“That’s fine, Ash, vhatever vorks for you.  You two.  I’m going to need your names,” Henrik said, pulling some paper and a pen out from his bag, “Show me some form of I.D.  You’re going to be banned from zhe shop, and if you ever set foot back in here, I can, and vill, have you arrested.”

The couple seemed hesitant to reveal their names, and neither one of them moved to show their names.

“If you von’t show me, I can call zhe officer back and have her come down here and make you,” Henrik said, “Trust me, you don’t vant zhat.”

The threat of the officer coming down here, and possibly hauling them off to jail, had both of them quickly fishing out some identification and showing it to Henrik.

“Alright, Jane.  Let him go,” Henrik said, then looking at the two customers running for the door, “I mean it.  Don’t you  _dare_   _ever_ set foot back in here again, or I will charge you vith trespassing.”

The minute that the door closed and it was just the three employees in the shop, Ash started to cry.  It was a silent stream, with the tears just running down their face.  Before anyone could say anything, they dashed into the back room, letting the door fall shut behind them.

“....Zhank you, Jane,” Henrik said, “For looking out for zhem.  I appreciate it.”

“I protect my comrades,” Jane said, moving behind the counter, “We’re a team, and I will watch out for each and every member of it.”

“Please don’t punch people in zhe shop, Jane.”

“I didn’t, sir.  I only lifted him up.”

“Zhat’s good to hear,” Henrik said, “Harming any of zhe customers is not allowed, unless they’re going to cause harm.  Next time, pummel zhem vith your lawyer skills, not your fists.”

“I’ll try, sir,” Jane said, “But sometimes force is necessary.”

“Use your judgement on zhat,” Henrik said, unsure if that was a smart thing to tell Jane, “I’m going to go check on Ash.  Please watch zhe front.”

Henrik quietly headed to the backroom, cautiously peering in as he opened the door.  He saw Ash curled up in a small ball, and he silently walked over and sat down next to them, offering his presence if they needed it.

“Ash?” He said, pausing before he placed a hand on their back, wondering if that’d even help, “Do you vant to talk?”

“No.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot today.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll get back to work, Henri, just- I need a minute, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for any of zhat.  It wasn’t your fault, “Henrik said, lightly placing the hand on their back, “Take all zhe time back here zhat you need.  If you vant me to leave you alone, I vill.”

“No, no, don’t go yet,” They said, “Just stay a sec.”

And so he did, sitting quietly next to Ash as they sobbing slowly started to ease up back into mere crying.  Their eyes were red, and their nose was running quite a bit.

“I jus-” Their words were cut off by a sudden gasp of a sob, “I’m just so tired of people..being like that, you know?  No one accepts me for who I want to be.  And it’s just _so hard_.  Why do I have to be a boy or a girl?  Why can’t I just be what makes me  _happy_?  It doesn’t hurt them for me to be me, so why can’t they just let me be.  I want to be Ash.  I just want to live my life as Ash, I want to be happy as Ash, why do so many other people have to ruin it?”

Henrik didn’t feel that this was a question that was supposed to be answered, so he just rubbed Ash’s back gently.  Why talk and interrupt when it wasn’t his moment to speak?  This wasn’t his sadness, he wasn’t supposed to try to fix it, so he offered the only thing he could: his support while Ash rode out this wave of emotions.

“...Are you going to fire me?” They asked, “Because of all of that. I didn't mean to cause shenanigans, Henrik... Are you going to fire me?”

This, however, was a question that was supposed to be answered, and so Henrik broke his silence.

“No, Ash, don’t worry about it,” Henrik said, “I vill not be firing you over zhis.  It vas not your fault, there are no grounds for dismissal.  I vant you to keep vorking here.  Do you vant to keep vorking here?”

“Yeah.  I love it here,” Ash said, “And not just ‘cause of the money either.  You guys are so nice to me.  Believe me, I’ve been called worse than the ‘they-hippie’.  That really is a term of endearment compared to other things.  I want to keep working here, Mister Henrik, I do.”

Jane’s loud voice could be heard through the closed door of the back room, and he called out, “Hello, Scout!”

“Zhat’s vhat I vanted to hear,” Henrik said, starting to stand up and head for the door, “Jane vill be leaving now.  Your shift’s going to be done soon as vell.  You’re welcome to spend another few minutes back here if you need to...You know, Jane said that you were part of the team here.  I get the feeling he wouldn’t be happy if you left either.”

“Jane said that?  You think he would?  He’s leaving?” Ash asked, scrambling up to their feet, “Wait, I need to thank him for that.  I didn’t thank him.”

“Jane, vait a moment,” Henrik called out as he stepped through the door, “Don’t leave quite yet.”

“Jane, um, about today?” Ash said, bumbling by Henrik, who was holding the backroom door for them, “Thanks.  Thank you.  For your help.  And protecting me.  I needed it.  A lot.  Thanks.”

Jane gave Ash a small salute of acknowledgement.  

“No problem, hippie,” He said as he left, heading around the back of the building for some reason.  He came back into view a minute later, carrying a dirty box, and he placed it into his car.

“What’s that?-” Ash started to ask.

“Raccoon,” Scout and Henrik said at the same time.

“Oh.  Okay,” Ash said, sniffling because of their runny nose, “Mister Henrik, you went to the shelter that Mundy talked about, right?”

“ _Ja_.”

“How late are they open?”

“To ten, I think, at least for pickup,” Henrik said, “Why?”

“I want to go pet puppies after work,”

“Ah,” Henrik said, “Ash, I do need you to stay here to talk to someone once your shift’s done.”

“Talk to someone?” Ash asked, “Who? Scout?”

“No, not Scout,” Henrik said, leaning in close and whispering, “I need you to speak to a  _Miss Pauling_.”

“Whoa, why’s Miss P. comin’ here?” Scout asked, suddenly leaning against the counter towards them, “Comin’ to see me?”

“No, zhere was an incident at vork and I’d like Ash to talk to her,” Henrik said, “Scout, I need you to not interrupt zhem while zhe two of zhem are talking.”

“You got it.  My lips will be zipped.”

“I doubt that, but I appreciate zhe sentiment.”

It was at this point that Scout noticed that Ash was, or had been, crying.

“Hey, Starburst, what happened?” Scout asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m doing better,” They replied, moving back behind the counter, “Scout, can you handle all of the customers today?”

“Havin’ an off-day or something?” Scout asked, “Sure, I can do that for ya’, no problem.”

There was something about the sight of Ash’s red eyes, tear stained face, and nervous frown that bugged Scout, and when something bugged Scout, he tried to fix it.  Henrik had told him to get along better with Ash, so maybe this would score him some points with his manager too.

“Hey, Ash, I hear you’re really good at latte art.  Izzat true?” Scout asked.

“Yeah?” Ash replied slowly, wondering where he was going with this.

“Can I see some?” He asked, “I mean, it sounds really cool, and I wanna see some good ones, and you’re really good, so who else would I ask?”

“Henrik, is it okay if I make a latte and do that?” Ash asked.

“As long as you make it a flavor you or Scout like, because I don’t want to see it getting poured down zhe drain,” Henrik replied, cleaning the front counter.

“Okay!” Ash said, a smile lighting up their face, “Okay, I will.  What do you want me to make?”

“Can you make the Red Sox logo?”

“Um...Yeah,” They said, “I think I remember what that looks like.”

When Miss Pauling arrived, dressed in her blue uniform, she walked in on Ash and Scout looking at a finely crafted Red Sox logo in a cop of coffee, made with both milk and a toothpick.

“That’s incredible,” Scout was saying, “Can you show me how to do that?  Can you teach me?”

“I guess, sure,” Ash said, “It takes a lot of practice.”

“I’m pretty good at working hard for what I want,” Scout said with a grin.

Before Ash could respond to Scout, they noticed a tiny police officer lady walking up to the counter.

“Are you Miss Pauling?” They asked, “Henrik told me I’m supposed to talk with you.”

“That’s me,” She said with a friendly smile, “Henrik talked with me earlier, and he asked me if I would help you.”

“Help me how?”

“I could walk you through how to file a restraining order,” She offered, watching Scout silently walk to the back room, “Or I could just escort you home.”

“I was going to go to the animal shelter.”

“I could escort you there, if you want.”

“Okay,” They said, “How’s the restraining order done?”

“Here, you’ll fill out a request and pay a filing fee, and then, if the court agrees, you’ll have a restraining order on the individual.”

“...Is there anything else I could do?”

“You could file charges on the person,” Pauling said slowly, “But you’d end up having to go to court if they contested.”

“...No, thank you,” Ash said, “Thank you for coming down here and talking with me, but I’m not going to do that.”

“Are you ready to get off work?

“I just need to get my stuff first.”

“Take your time.  Henrik owes me a drink.”

“I’ll be making it,” Henriks said, appearing from the backroom thanks to Scout’s notification that Pauling was here, “For here or to go?”

“To go,” She said, “Ash here - Ash, right? - doesn’t want to file anything, so I’ll just be taking them to the animal shelter.”

“You don’t?” Henrik asked Ash, preparing to make Pauling’s drink.

“No,” They said, heading to the back room.

“They don’t?” He asked Pauling after they were gone.

“No,” She said, leaning an elbow on the counter, “Pretty sure it’s because they don’t want to deal with the whole mess of court, not that I blame them for that.  That’s what I’m reading off of them, anyway.”

“Ah, that’s...Alright zhen,” Henrik said, “Zhank you for coming down here.”

”No problem, Henrik,” Pauling said, “It’s not often that I get this drink.  I usually get weird looks when I ask for it other places.”

“You ask for it other places?” Henrik asked, “You’ve plunged a knife into my back.”

“And even after I explain what it is, it still doesn’t taste as good as you make it,” She continued with a grin.

“Now you twisted the blade,” Henrik said, matching her smile, “You know why it doesn’t taste as good?  Because zhey haven’t lived over in Europe and tasted an original one.”

“You like living in the states, Henrik?” She asked.

“...Yes.”

“I heard that pause.”

“It’s better in some ways, worse in others,” Henrik said with a shrug, “But here is my home now.”

“You always are so diplomatic,” She said with a shake of her head, “Someone could hold you up and you’d find a solution that works for both of you.”

Henrik quietly laughed, but it soon died off, instead being replaced by a small frown.

“Pauling,” He said, “I...Hmm.”

“What is it?” She asked.

Henrik stayed quiet.  For some reason, it was so much easier to direct someone else to get help from the police, such as guiding Ash there.  But when it came to himself, it was so much more difficult to say what had happened.

“Henrik?” She asked, “Is everything alright?”

“I actually was held up yesterday,” He said quietly.

“You were?” She asked quickly, “Why didn’t you report it?  Did you report it?”

“No.”

“Why not?” She asked, pulling out her notebook, “Give me some details now.  You might have to come into the station to give others.  Tell me what happened.”

“No,” Henrik said, “I’m not reporting anything.”

“Was it near Fourth and Redding?” She asked, carefully watching his face, “A McDonalds was held up there last night, and we have no leads.  It was the cleanest getaway I’ve seen in a while.  Was it near there?”

“I don’t quite remember,” Henrik fibbed, well aware it had happened on Redding and Turbine, just a block or two away.

“What is up with the people here being so scared of the law?” Pauling asked, “I can’t help you if you don’t file things.  Justice has to come through paperwork at the station.  I'm sorry, but it won’t happen any other way.”

“I’m not scared of the law,” Scout said, suddenly scooting into view, “I think justice is, like, the best thing.  Ever.  How you doin’, Pauling?”

“I’m doing fine, Scout,” She said, “How are you?”

“My day’s been getting better over the last couple of minutes, yeah,” Scout said, “Did you see those Red Sox last night?  Petrelli hammered a grand slam and helped them win it in the fourteenth.”

“Is that what happened?” She asked, “I stopped watching in the eleventh because it was so late.”

“You watch the Sox?”

“They were on ESPN last night,” She said, “I usually turn it on to whatever game they’re playing.”

“You like sports?”

“I used to watch crime dramas, but stopped after I started living them,” She said, “They were inaccurate and they made me angry.”

“You know that the local team’s gonna be playing in town Saturday?”

“They are?”

“Saturday afternoon,” He said, “I can get two tickets if you want to go with me.”

“Saturday afternoon?” She said, flipping through her notebook some more, glancing at Scout over her cat-eye glasses. “I’m patrolling Friday, but I get Saturday off...Sure, why not?”

“I mean, I understand that, life’s busy and you’re a busy girl and,” He paused, "...Did you say yes?”

“I said yes,” She said, watching Ash come out of the back with their bag and turning to face them, “Come on, you’ll have to tell me which shelter.  Do you have a car?”

“No,” Ash said.

“You can ride in mine,” She said, heading for the door with them.

“I-I’ll see you then!” Scout called out eagerly, “We’ll meet here and go over there?”

“Works for me,” She said, offering a wave without turning around, guiding Ash to her patrol car.

“Goodbye, Ash,” Henrik said, “Your shift starts earlier tomorrow, at eleven. We’re closing even earlier, alright?”

Scout stared at the door long after the car, and Pauling, had left.  The rest of his shift was filled with happy whistling, happy cleaning, even happy mopping, as Scout bounded around in excitement and got his work done.  He was done quickly enough that Henrik was even able to steal another quick nap in the back as his co-worker cleaned.  Laying on coffee beans wasn’t comfortable, but it would do.

The two of them flicked off the lights and locked the door thirty minutes earlier than usual, with Henrik's blessing.  He needed to get home and sleep, and maybe if he started walking earlier, he’d be alright.

“Hen, you said you were held up, right?” Scout asked, watching his ride pull into the lot, “You wanna ride home?”

“Were you listening on my conversation with Pauling?”

“I was looking for an opening, alright?” Scout said as Julien stepped out of the car, “And it worked.”

“Justice was your opening?”

“It worked, alright?” Scout said, “So do you want a ride or not?”

“I’m not sure...I do have a different place to go, I have doves to pick up at the shelter tonight,” Henrik said, “Would you mind taking the time to do all zhat?”

“It would be no problem,” Julien interjected quickly, “With as early as it is, we should still be getting home at the usual time.  We’ll give you, and your birds, a ride, Vogler.”

Was Julien offering to give Henrik a ride out of guilt more than the goodness of his heart?  Probably, but that’s not to say that he would never give the man a ride.  It was just that he felt he owed Henrik after all that he had done, and a ride wold be a good start to subtlety making things a little bit better for him.  Not completely right, but right _er_.

The ride with Julein and Scout was uneventful.  They all talked, yes, but Henrik would be lying if he said he was very excited about getting the doves and he was looking forward to it.  That excitement made it easy to tune out the conversation and arguing taking place in the front.

In the shelter, he saw Ash in a small pile of cats with Mundy in the room with them.  They were behind a window, so Henrik couldn’t hear what they were saying.  Ash was smiling now, and seemed to be feeling better, so Henrik decided to get his doves and get out.  If Ash wanted to talk tomorrow, they would, but for now he’s let them enjoy the pile of cats climbing on them.

On the ride back to his apartment, Henrik started to debate what names he should give his doves.  There were so many options:  Hippocrates, Asclepius,  Euclid,  Thales, or even something more normal, like Gertrude.  So many options.

Once at his apartment, he thanked Scout and his step-father for the ride and started the long walk up the stairs.  He placed the other doves in to Archimedes large cage, checked their food and water, checked on Archimedes, gave her a brief kiss, grabbed his keys, and then ran back down the stairs.  It was almost ten and Dell was coming over here to do a favor for him.  He wasn’t going to leave the man waiting.

The Texan was pulling up in his truck, surprisingly an older-looking one, when Henrik made it back outside.  Dell seemed surprised to see Henrik already here.

“Did you run all the way here?” He asked, stepping out of his truck, pulling a toolbox out with him, "Just to meet me?  You didn't have to do that, Doc."

“No.  I got out of work early,” Henrik said, “I just got here.”

Well, open your car up,” Dell said, “Let’s see what’s hurtin’ her today.”

Henrik popped the hood and Dell immediately leaned over and start looking around inside Henrik’s car, seeing if the problem was easily spotted.  

Conagher was shorter, though not necessarily short.  He was stocky, as most good cooks seem to be, and his plaid shirt and jeans did nothing to hide this fact, not that it was needed.  If the man was self-conscious about it, he had never shown it.  There was nary a hair on his head and only a light blond stubble on his face.  His right hand was missing, instead replaced with a bionic one which he probably invented himself, but the reason it was missing never seemed to be mentioned, and it’s absence didn’t seem to hinder the man at all. 

Whether he was born without the hand or happened to lose it in some accident was equally likely to Henrik.  For a man that was so friendly, and that knew about everyone and one that everyone knew, no one seemed to know that much about him.  Perhaps that was safer when you had a lot of money to your name, or inventions to make that you wanted to keep as your own, or, perhaps Tavish was right, and he merely got to know everyone so he wasn’t as lonely.  No matter, he was a friendly soul that everyone knew that they could count on in one way or another, unless they happened to get on the wrong side of his Texas anger.  

He wasn’t violent, nor coarse, with is his fury, but if crossed, you would know.   Still, it was hard to cross a man like Conagher, unless one tried very hard.  He was the type of man who would give, who would drive across town to take a look at a friend’s broken-down car for free, and do his best to help them out with it.  

Speaking of which, the man seemed fully engrossed with tinkering with this and that, seeing that the problem was not as easily spotted as he hoped.  Except for the mechanical clicking, the silence was getting awkward.  Henrik decided to fix that with some calm conversation.  it was the least he owed the man for doing all of this for him.

"How’s your bar?”

“Closed tonight,” Dell said with a laugh, “But that’s alright.  I was already planning on taking a day off.  The bar’s good.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Could use a little updating,” Dell said, “I’m looking to get some art painted on a wall.  Not a mural, I don’ guess, but something like that.”

“...Have you found anyone yet?”

“No.  Looked at a couple different people, but I didn’t like them,” Dell said, “Why are you askin’?  You know an artist?”

“I do,” Henrik said, “An employee of mine is a very good artist.  Ash Phoenix is zhey’re name.  Have you looked at zhem yet?”

“’Them’?” Dell asked leaning in to look at something, “...They got rainbow hair?”

“Yes,” Henrik sanswered slowly, “You already tried them?”

“No, not yet.  I know them,” Dell said, “Well, I know their parents better, didn’t meet the kid much.  I had no idea that they were still in town.  Bless their little heart.”

“How do you know them?”

“Their parents were business contacts of mine.”

“Were?” Henrik said, “Have zhey passed?”

“What?  No, they’re as alive as you or me,” Dell said, “They kicked the kid out once they became a they.  Cut them off completely.”

“They vere kicked out...”

“Yep.  You know where they live now, Doc?” Conagher asked, “I’d love to talk to them and make sure they’re doin’ alright.”

“I do not know zhat,” Henrik asked, “But they’re comin’ into work tomorrow, so I could let zhem know you have a possible job.”

“Do that.  Give them the bar number too, if it’s no problem,” Dell said, standing upright, “Everything looks fine.  Let me give you a jump, and we’ll see if that helps.”

After rigging up some cables, Dell tried to charge up Henrik’s battery again briefly.  Henrik, receiving orders from Dell, tried his car, and it started up.  Then it died a moment later, the jump apparently not having been enough to revive it for long.

“Probably your alternator.  Your battery’s not holding a charge, so it probably died,” He said, “It’s about...three hundred to replace, including labor?  Four hundred tops.”

“Meaning?”

“I could charge your battery up tonight but by morning it will have lost the charge.  Without the alternator, you can’t fix that,” Dell said, packing everything up, “Get that replaced, and you car should run just fine.”

“Thank you for coming here zhis late,” Henrik said, “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, Doc, this diagnostic was free of charge,” Dell said, climbing into his truck, “Make sure you come by Tavish’s party tomorrow.”

“Have you seen Tavish today?” Henrik asked, “He was very upset zhis morning and I don’t know why.”

“It’s his pop,” Dell said, leaving his truck door open to talk, “The man suffered a massive heart attack out in the field.  Was working, getting ready to tear down a building, and he collapsed.  From what I heard, the man’s not doin’ too well.”

“And Tavish still wants to do zhis party?”

“I think he’s conflicted about a lot of things and feelings right now, so he wants to take a little bit of time and forget all of that,” Dell said, strapping in his seat belt, “And I think he’s tired of people asking him if he’s sure about something he’s sure about.”

“I...Oh, I-”

“Not telling that you directly, Henrik,” Dell said, reaching for the door, “I asked him the same thing and got quite a tense response.  He’s certain, and he wants us to respect that.  I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc.”

“Yes.”

“And don’t forget to tell Ash about my job offer,” He said, “Have a good night, Henrik.”

“You too, Dell.”

The man backed his truck out and left the lot, and Henrik returned inside, deep in thought.  Suddenly Ash's outburst in the back room seemed deeper, and a little sadder, than it initially had.  Considering how sad it seemed before, that was hard to believe.  

Once Henrik made it back up to his apartment, and his doves, he put the keys down, kicked his shoes off, and started to take his work attire off.  Looking around for his first pet, he saw that Archimedes was currently sitting outside of the cage, looking in at the two other birds.

“They’re here to stay,” Henrik said, moving to open up the cage and take the new doves out, “I certainly hope that you all get along well.”

It took a few minutes, but the doves were soon interacting and getting along fairly well.  He didn’t ever leave the room for long, for only two minutes at a time as he made some dinner, returning to sit down and let the doves land on him and peer around him at each other.  

Eventually, after dinner and dove-sitting as the birds met each other, and checking the books for Ash, everyone in that apartment was tired.  He put the birds all away in Archimedes large cage, and got ready for bed himself.  

He hummed to himself as he brushed his teeth and washed his face, completely unaware that Misha was close to beating his head on the coffee shop with frustration as he had found it closed and empty again.  

But here, at the apartment, it was a quiet night.  The only thing wrong was his car seemed to be a three hundred dollar part, he had arrived home just fine, the birds were getting along.  

It was actually a nice, quiet night for once, one where he could get sleep.  And he should sleep, because Tavish’s party, the one that the man seemed to be needing, was tomorrow and he certainly didn’t want to be falling asleep during that.

Tomorrow was going to be an exciting, and interesting, day.  Just how exciting was it going to be?

He had no idea, it was impossible to tell now.  But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t look forward to it.  It was exciting being able to actually look forward to something for once.

With everything starting to go so right in his life right now, how could tomorrow possibly go wrong?


	5. Barboozled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Henrik to go to that bar party with Tavish and Jane!
> 
> What could possibly go wrong? =D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here - http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/129942573032/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-5  
> Likes and reblogs are appreciated, but by no means required. =)

For the first time that he could remember, because it had indeed been a while, Henrik woke up feeling almost refreshed.  He had slept through the night and didn't wake up already dragging.  He certainly didn't feel like bounding out of bed, but he also didn't feel like he wanted to faceplant back into his pillow and try again to find some energy buried somewhere in it.  

Getting out of bed, he stretched, giving a yawn as he headed out of the room to check on his doves.  He took a look inside their cage and gave a small, half-awake, smile at the scene.  The two new birds were sleeping next to each other, and they had also allowed Archimedes to sleep next to them.  Three of them formed an adorable scene of a white, fluffy pile of sleeping doves.  

He left the doves and moved to the kitchen, where he tried to get himself some breakfast as quietly as possible, so as to not wake any of the birds up.  They let him sleep in peace, he should return the same courtesy.

The birds.  They needed names, and there was no better time to name them.  The people at the shelter had just called them "one" and "two", because their previous owner hadn't bothered to give them names, or, if he had, he hadn't mentioned them.  

He pondered what to call them as he ate his breakfast, and then as he ran over the books for Ash, double checking them to make sure he had figured the right number.  There was a theme to be followed for sure; Archimedes would sound even more ridiculous if paired with normal every day names.  

No, what he picked had to be grand, as grand as Archimedes’ name was, but not moreso.

Running over some names in his mind, and tempted to start looking through some of his history books, Greek or otherwise, he finally decided on Bacchylides and Copernicus.  Yes, those sounded good.

They were all different enough that he wouldn’t end up tripping over them or forcing himself through a tongue-twister every time he tried to talk to them all. Bacchylides and Copernicus worked wonderfully.  

Now all he had to do was decided which was which; he’d do it later, after he arrived back home from the party, for now it was time to go to work.

Henrik started the walk to the shop, bracing himself for the soft, chilly drizzle of rain that would be accompanying him on his way and thankful he had his dark, slim pea coat on.  The last grip Fall had on the weather was being taken by Winter who was was roaring in, and reminding people about the season, very fast.  He was lucky that it wasn’t sleeting yet, though it might be tonight according to the weather man.  Getting his car fixed should be his number one priority right now.

It was long, lonely walk to his job, make longer and lonelier by the fact that Tavish wasn’t there to offer him a ride today.  He didn’t even see the Scotsmans car drive by, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Tavish had arrived early for his last day of work, or if he was going to arrive very late.

Jane was waiting for him outside the store, not bothering to stand under the overhanging awning despite the weather.  When asked before why he didn’t get out of the rain, Jane just said that no one called  _mother_  nature was going to beat a man by throwing a little water at them.  

Henrik would worry that Jan would get sick, but he had never seen the man even sniffle, and his record was spotless as he had never even taken off a sick day.

Perhaps the saying was true: idiots didn’t catch colds.

“Good morning, Jane,” Henrik greeted as he unlocked the shop door, “How are you?”

“Better than ever, sir!” Jane said with a grin, following his manager into the shop.’

“Wipe your feet,” Henrik reminded, and then he inquired, “Why so?”

“Because I can’t wait for tonight, sir.” Jane replied, making sure to do an excellent job wiping his feet.  He had been looking forward to this for a couple of days now.

“I am excited for tonight as well,” Henrik said as he took off his coat, and folded it into a wet mess that he stuck under the counter, out of the way.  

It had been so long since he had taken a night off, to just go out and do  _something_.  He should probably do that more on his own, without having to be dragged out his door, but he always found an excuse, usually something about work, to put it off.  Now that someone else had invited him, though, he felt that it was harder to put it to the side, especially since other people knew that he was going to be there.

Today he was closing the shop early, by about two hours, so he had time to go home and clean up before someone picked him up.   He had called his employees to let them know, and had the sign ready to post once the shop was actually closed.  If there was anything that he loved about having a managerial position, with his partial ownership, it was that he got to decide the hours of operation.

Once his apron was in place, he and Jane began setting up the shop, doing some quick wiping as they got the place ready for the day.

Jane’s solo shift with Henrik was passing by without incident, and Ash showed up right on time for their own.  They looked around with wide eyes, making sure that there were no customers keeping them, or even slowing them, from getting to behind the safety of the counter.  

“Hey,” They said quietly as they greeted their co-workers.

“Hello, Ash,” Henrik said, “How are you today?  Are you alright?”

“Me?   Uh, yeah, Henrik sir.  I’m fine,” they said, “Um, did you get a chance to...?”

“Look at the books?” Henrik finished, “Yes.  I can give you about half of your payment early right now.”

“Half?” They asked slowly, “I...Okay, that might work.  Thank you, Henrik.”

“Zhere is something else, if you’re looking for more income,” Henrik began, “A friend of mine, one you might actually know, Dell Conagher, has a potential job opportunity for you.”

“For me?” They asked, “I think I know that name.  What’s he got?”

“He’s looking for someone to do some art for his bar.  I do not know what he vants exactly, but when he mentioned zhat he needed an artist, I recommended you,” Henrik said, reaching into his pants pocket, “He told me to give you his number, so zhat the two of you can talk and see if you can take the job.”

“Is he bald?” Ash asked as they pocketed the number.

“Pardon?”

“Is he a bald guy?” They asked again, “One with the funky awesome hand thing?”

“Zhat’s Dell, yes,” Henrik said, “You remember him now?”

“Yeah, I like him.  He’s nice,” They said with a smile, “He took a look through my stuff back when...back a while ago.  He complimented a lot of it; he said it had more color than he usually likes, but that he liked how I did it and made it all work together.  When does he want me to talk to him?”

“Whenever you can.  The bar’s gong to be open tonight, so I vouldn’t recommend dropping by zhere during zhat,” Henrik said, “You should call him, possibly tonight or tomorrow if you can, and set up a day where he von’t be open so it’s just the two of you zhere.”

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good,” Ash replied, “I’ll do that.  Thank you, Henrik.”

“You’re velcome, Ash,” Henrik said with a soft smile, and then he went over the work schedule, “I vant you vorking the back, Ash; your tasks are going to be about drink making and organization in the backroom, clean back zhere if you zhink it needs it.  I’ll be taking the counter, Jane vill be on cleaning duty in zhe front, and zhe two of us will be swapping occasionally, until Jane leaves for zhe day.  Sound good to you two?”

The other two workers agreed that this plan sounded good; Ash liked the idea of being in the back, and Jane would do his best at whatever he was told to do.  Henrik was making sure to play to their strengths and preferences, to make sure that everyone was comfortable.  It was perfect.

With this setup, Jane’s shift finished, and Ash’s progressed, with no incident, despite the many customers they dealt with.  Jane bid everyone goodbye as he left, probably to go get ready for the party tonight.  As he was leaving, Scout entered.  Their shifts were stacked close to Henrik could close the place down early tonight, but still fill their already allotted hours for the week.

“Hey, Ash, can ya’ show me more of the latte art stuff?” Scout near immediately asked as he wiped his feet on the front mat, shaking his soaked jacket off of his shoulders, “Start the lesson today while no one’s here, yeah?”

“Lesson?” Ash asked, pausing their wiping of the back counter, caught off-guard by Scout’s request, “Lesson?...Lesson.  Okay, lesson.  Um, guess we’ll start the milk?  That’s kinda wherer we have to start.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds great,” Scout said as he headed behind the counter to store his stuff, “Milk.  Awesome.  Let’s do the milk thing.”

The two of them set to work on that, with Ash patiently answering each and every one of Scout’s questions.

“What kind of milk is that?”

“Full-fat, that’s what I like to use, but other kinds work too.”

“So we heat the milk up?”

“Yes.”

“But not too hot?”

“No, because that will scald it.”

“But it starts out cold, right?”

“Yes, the colder it is, the less chance you’ll scald it.”

So scalding it is bad?”

“Yes.”

“So how hot is the good hot?”

“Before boiling, right before, but don’t let it stay at that temperature for too long be-”

“Because it will scald it, right?” Scout finished with a grin.

“You got it,” Ash replied, matching their co-worker’s grin as they took it off the heat.

“How’d you know to take it off?”

“Because there were small bubbles.  If they’re big, than it’s probably too late for that batch and you have to start over.”

“Why aren’t you doing the art stuff now?”

“Because it you need to let it settle a second, it looks better that way,” Ash said, picking up the pitcher of milk and hitting it down against the counter.

“Geez, I get it, Ash,” Scout said as he took a step back, “You don’t have to bangin’ things around to make a point.”

“I was getting rid of the bubbles,” Ash replied with a giggle, swirling the pitcher around for a few seconds, “We don’t want the bubbles now.”

“Bubbles bad now?”

“Yeah, now they are,” Ash said, “Now that that’s ready, let’s talk coffee-.”

Henrik, noticing that a customer had entered, ceased listening to Ash and Scout’s conversation and instead focused on taking their order.  He made the coffee himself, not wishing to interrupt the two younger employees now that they were getting along.  

They may only be getting along because Scout wanted something, though Henrik felt that this was more because he had asked Scout to play nice with Ash.  Either way, he was happy that they were actually getting along, though he’d prefer the second thought to the first.

Ash’s shift eventually ended, after a successfully made latte art by them and an unsuccessful one by Scout as well as the numerous other drink orders they had expertly made.  They picked up their backpack and bid everyone good bye before they stepped outside.  

Henrik had been about to stop them, to see if they had someone to walk with them, just in case, but he saw a tall, lanky figure, hands in pockets, smile at the colorful co-worker and start to walk with them.  Mick was usually a morning customer, what was he doing here now?  Had Ash asked him to walk with them?  Or had they just happened to run into each other right outside the store right then? 

Well, no matter.  As long as Ash had someone to walk with them, someone that they trusted, then Henrik was happy.  As long as they were safe, Henrik was happy.

This left Scout and Henrik, who soon started close up the shop after the store’s day was done.  As Henrik was wiping the glass case, and Scout was mopping, the German felt some eyes on his back.

“Scout, vhat do you vant?” He asked, back still to the boy, “I prefer you ask rather zhan staring.”

“Whoa, wait, how’d you do that?” Scout asked, “You weren’t even facing me, how’d you do that.”

“Magic,” Henrik said, smiling slightly at the reflective glass he was cleaning, “Now vhat is it?”

“Are you sure you want to close the place early tonight?” Scout finally asked.

“Vhat?” Henrik asked, turning to look at the boy, “Of course I’m sure.  Zhat’s vhy I stacked your shifts so closely, so you could all get your hours and I could close down early.  Vhy?”

“I mean, I’m just asking,” Scout said quickly, “You’re gonna miss the late night crowd by doin’ this-”

“Zhis shift is usually one of zhe quietest ones-”

“And what would another hour of bein’ open hurt?-”

“I vant to go home and clean up for tonight and being open any longer would take zhat possibility away?”

“You don’t need to clean up, Hen, you’re fine.”

“...Vhat do you vant, Scout?”

The younger co-worker ceased his mopping, leaned on the mop, and looked the German straight in the eye.

“What?” He asked.

“Vhy should I stay open later?  Give me a reason,” Henrik said as he walked behind the counter.

“Um, because...the potential profit?”

“Zhere is usually not much profit during zhis shift,” Henrik said as he picked up a piece of paper, “Try again.”

“’Cause you don’ need to clean up any.”

“Needs and vants can vary,” Henrik said as he headed towards the front, “Even if I don’t need to, I vant to.”

“Um...Because-”

“Why don’t you just tell me your reason for staying open?”

“You’ve closed early a lot this week...”

“I have to.  I need to valk home until my car is fixed, so I prefer to close early so I’m not valking home at eleven or so,” Henrik said, looking at Scout, “Are you worried about the shop?  Don’t be, it’s fine.  Closing early doesn’t lose as many customers as the afternoon or morning shift vould, and I’m making sure to give you your hours, and it’s all fine, Scout, don’t worry about it-”

Henrik paused, taped the sign to the door, and turned back to face the younger employee.

“Ve’re closed now, Scout, and zhere’s nothing for you to vorry about,” Henrik said, giving Scout a pat on the back as he headed back to the counter and started to pull his coat and bag out, “Is your ride here?”

“Not yet, they’ll be here soon,” Scout said with his back to Henrik as he pulled the mopping station into the back room, “Can I make a hot chocolate for the wait?”

“Of course.  Do you vant to wait inside?” Henrik asked as he retrieved his and Scout’s items from under the counter, “It’s raining out zhere.  If they’re going to be here soon, I’ll vait.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Scout said as he mixed up his drink, “You got a long walk home, might as well get started.”

 Henrik watched Scout clean up his small mess and then put his jacket back on, “Are you absolutely sure zhat you don’t care to vait inside?”

“Positive,” Scout said with a grin as he headed outside with Henrik, “A little water never hurt anyone." 

“You sound like Jane.”

“Ha, do I?” Scout asked, “Damn, that’s not good. And ‘sides, I’ll be sitting under the overhang, so I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure, Scout,” Henrik said slowly as he locked the door, “You have my number if you need it.  If zhey don’t show soon, the extra key’s in the plant here, under some dirt.  Make sure to not make a mess and to lock the place back up if you go in,”

“Yeah, sure, got it,” Scout said as he leaned back against the brick building, “Thanks, Hen.”

“You’re welcome, Scout,” Henrik said as he started to slowly walk away, “Have a nice night.”

“You too,” Scout called out, “Have fun tonight, man, you’ve earned it.  Make it a good one.”

Casting one last look over his shoulder at the boy, Henrik started the soaking wet walk back to his place.  He trudged up the stairs, and sighed with relief as soon as he stepped back into his wonderfully dry apartment.  

Checking on the doves was his first priority, and he was relived to find that the three of them were getting along quite well.  He took a moment to talk with each of them, petting them and giving them a bit of interaction before he’d have to lock them up again for the night.

Henrik started by changing his clothes.  He didn’t have time for a shower, clean-up had taken longer than he had planned.  Scout had mopped slower than usual today.  The walk home had been wet enough anyway.  A change of clothes into something nicer than his work uniform was the main thing he wanted.  

He placed his coat, hat, and apron down on the table, and placed his bag there as well.  Tonight all he needed was his wallet, which could slip easily into his pocket, so he wouldn’t be toting his bag of paperwork and information around tonight.

Heading to his bedroom, he sifted through his dresser until he found a nice pair of black slacks and a deep maroon button-down shirt.  He buttoned it all the way up and made sure that his collar was right, and then headed to his bathroom to get straightened up.  

His hair was a bit damp, just little bit thank to the hat, but that wouldn’t been too much of a problem for him to deal with.  As long as he neatened it up, it should dry fine.  Archimedes flew into the room as Henrik brushed his hair into a neater look, and she jumped on his head as soon as the brush was out of her way.

“Hello, Archimedes,” He greeted, looking up at the dove as best he could, “Are you getting along with zhe others?”

Archimedes cooed in reply, and Henrik smiled as he looked back down, taking a second to look himself over, actually happy .  Before he got too far, though, Archimedes decided to help style her owner’s hair, and started pulling at strands until it was poking up, just like a beautiful nest.  She was quite proud of that after she was done.

“Ha, yes, very nice, Archimedes,” Henrik said as he carefully listed the bird off of his head, straightening his hair once he could, “Perhaps too fashion-forward for tonight.  Another time.”

The bird merely looked up at Henrik after he placed her on the counter, as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying.  

Or, perhaps, that was just the look he thought he saw on her face.

He really did need to go out and socialize with someone, didn’t he?  At least he had a reason to go out tonight.  Who knows?  Maybe once he remembers what it’s like to go out and have fun, he’d want to do it more, whatever it was.

Have fun.  That was the reason he was going out tonight.  To go out and enjoy a night with people he dared to call his friends.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he realized that he looked like he was going more for a job interview rather than a party.  Slowly, he reached up and undid a button on his shirt, to give a more relaxed look.  He undid the next one, and then the next.

Then he paused and redid the last one.  Two buttons was enough, that definitely helped give his a better vibe.  He didn’t need to go completely wild tonight.

Giving his place one last go over, and putting his three birds to “bed”, and wishing them goodnight, they should be asleep by the time he got back, he grabbed his wallet, made sure he had some cash, grabbed his damp coat, and then headed downstairs.  Tavish was going to be picking him up so that the could get to Conagher’s, and he didn’t want to be holding the party up.

Once he reached the bottom of the steps, and was out of the building, it only took a few minutes for Tavish to pull up.  Jane was in the passenger’s seat, so Henrik took a seat in the back.

“Hello, Henrik!” Jane said, “We are going to a bar.”

“Ye’ all buckled in?” Tavish asked, looking in the rear-view mirror with a grin, “’Cause we’re going now, lad.”

The car started heading down the road, and Jane and Tavish talked and laughed in the front, with Henrik occasionally speaking up.  

But he was getting a feeling like he didn’t belong.  He didn’t belong at a bar, he didn’t belong in this group of friends.  It was Jane and Tavish, it always had been.  Were they inviting him out of pity?

“Henrik, ye’ aright there? Your face looks more like we’re goin’ to a ‘kick in the balls’ meet-up than a party,”Tavish said, “You want to go, don’t ye?”

“Me?  Yes, of course,” Henrik replied quickly.

“I wouldn’t have invited ye’ if I didn’t think you’d not enjoy it,” Tavish said, “I understand that a bar’s probably not your ‘type’ of scene-”

“Vhat?  Scene?” Henrik asked, “Vhat do you zhink is my type of ‘scene’?”

“Think you’d be the type to enjoy a nice restaurant and conversation with someone,” Tavish said, “A place that’s quiet and gives you time to process everything, a nice bottle of wine, a good atmosphere, stuff like that.”

Tavish took Henrik’s silence as a yes, that he had nailed the man, and continued.

“We’re not going on a date tonight, Henrik, we’re just havin’ a party, so I hope that Conagher’s is good enough for you,” The Scotsman joked.

“Of course, it is.  Conagher’s is a good bar,” Henrik replied quickly, “Has it changed since I’ve last been?”

“Depends,” Tavish said, “When’d you ‘last been’?”

“It was...” He paused as he went over some events in his mind, trying to figure it out, “Maybe last year around this time?”

“It’s changed,” Tavish said, “Updated a bit.  Still got that rustic vibe to it, but Dell’s really turned that old buildin’ into something amazing.”

“Oh?  That’s good to hear,” Henrik said, “I’m glad he helped save the building.  It was just going to be torn down, wasn’t it?”

“Aye.”

“What’s my scene, Tavish?” Jane broke in.

“You?  Hmmm, probably a fast food joint, or a louder, fast kind of restaurant,” Tavish said, “You like it loud and quick, so ye’ can move on to the next thing on yer’ to-do list.”

What’s yours?”

“Mine?  It’s probably between you two,” Tavish said, “Nicer’n a fast-food joint, but not as nice as a fancy eatery.  Somewhere in the middle of that.”

“Like Conagher’s?” Henrik asked.

“Aye,” Tavish grinned as he parked the car outside the bar, “Just like that.  But unless m’lady decides to drop by, none of us are going to be worryin’ about ‘scenes’ tonight.  It’s party time.”

The three men exited Tavish’s car, Jane looking like he wanted to say something, and headed for the bar entrance.  It was a welcoming building, made of brick and timber, with a sign in the window announcing that the place was open.

Inside, the place was a bit noisy, but not too bad for a bar.  There was another group of people, an older group, who had shoved some tables together in the corner to fit everyone as was being quite rambunctious.  

Dell was back behind the bar, serving up drinks and conversation with everyone near him, and he gave the group a wave.

Evenin’, fellas” Dell said as they sat at a nearby table, “What can I get ya’?”

“Usual for me,” Tavish said, “Jane?”

“Give me a man’s drink, whiskey.  On the rocks.”

“Got it; a glass of Scotland’s finest scotch and a whiskey with ice-”

“I said rocks, and I meant rocks.”

“Jane, I’m, ah, fresh out of rocks for today,” Dell said, “Will ice do or do you want something else?”

“You never have rocks,” Jane grumbled, “Ice will do.”

“Alrighty then,” Dell said as he started putting some ice in a glass, “Anything for you, Henrik?”  
  
“No, um, I suppose I’m driving back, so I vill not be having anyzhing,” The German said.

“You can if you want, I’d call a cab,” Dell said, “I’ve got a cab company number, so I can give them a call anytime.  I give them a lot of customers.”

Henrik frowned slightly, still not convinced that he shouldn’t be the designated driver.

“Tavish, toss me your keys,” Dell said, and he smoothly caught them with his good hand after the Scotsman sent them his way, “I’ve got the keys now, Henrik, no one’s going to be drinkin’ an’ drivin’, not on my watch.  You’re free to relax tonight and have some fun.”

‘Vell....I suppose a drink or two wouldn’t hurt,” Henrik agreed reluctantly, “It’s been awhile since I’ve had one.”

“See now, there you go,” Dell said, “Just do what you gotta do to have a good time, alright?  Now what can I get’cha’?

”...I don’t know,” Henrik admitted, “I’ve been so far in zhe coffee business I forgot zhings about alcohol.  Vhat would you recommend?”

“If I remember right, you can handle a drink. Been a while, though, so I bet you're kinda a lightweight right now, especially compared to Tavish and Jane, “ Dell said slowly, “So let’s start you out easy.  How’s coffee liqueur and cream sound?”

“Like vork,” Henrik replied, “It sounds like my job.”

“Does it?” Dell said with a laugh, “Let’s go with citrus then, and maybe coffee liqueur later.  You came here to celebrate, not feel like you’re at work.  One mimosa comin’ up.”

The trio’s drinks were ready a just a few moments later, and a complimentary bowl of pretzels was brought to the table.  Each of the drink’s came in a short round glass; typically a mimosa came in a thinner, taller one, but Dell changed the glass so that it wasn’t as obvious who the non-drinker was at the table.

“Y’all need any food, let me know,” Dell said before he left to go tend to a different customer, “Don’t be afraid to speak up.”

Tavish, Henrik, and Jane each tried their drinks.  Tavish was very satisfied with his, Jane was happy, but he felt his needed more rocks, and Henrik was surprisingly pleased with his.  It was fruity, and tasted more of orange juice than any sort of alcohol.  Dell either slipped him a fancy glass of orange juice, or he knew how to cater well to his customers.  Either one was a good guess.

“Did your classes go vell?” Henrik finally asked Tavish, “Are you happy zhat finals are over?”

“Aye.  I love the kids, and teachin’s pretty good, but jammin’ them for tests, especially ones that can make or break a grade, just kills me,” Tavish said, “If I could teach people, but not have to grade’em, that’d be wonderful.  Grades are dumb, and they mean far too much.  S’not fair how not comprehending one subject can drag down your entire GPA.   So what if you don’t understand organic chemistry, that doesn’t make you any less of a human.”

“Has it gotten vorse since you or I vere in school?” Henrik asked, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Jane was looking at the clock on the wall.

“Far worse.  They’re stackin’ more paperwork on the kiddos than they probably do in an office buildin,” Tavish said, “Kids’ got, what, five classes a day?  S’five hours, plus an hour for lunch.  Each teacher thinks that handin’ off two hours worth of school work s’fair, because they don’t care about the other classes.  They don’t look at the cumulative pile of work they’re all givin’ the kids because they can’t see over the stack of papers they’re handin’ out.  That’s about fifteen hours a day, minimum, they’re askin’ of the kids.  They’re supposed to sleep eight hours a day, makin’ twenty three, which means they’re got an average of an hour to live and eat.”

“Didn’t school used to be about learning?” Henrik said, “You vent, you learned, did some homevork, and then went on vith your life....Vhen did zhat change?”

“Try bein’ in the honors classes; the work gets absolutely bloody ridiculous there,” Tavish said, not noticing the frown on Jane’s face “I had a a girl breakdown in my class Wednesday.  Got her a soda and gave her a pat on the back and we talked later.  She was stressed beyond belief; AP classes, a job, and a chess club group she didn’t want to be a part of, but would look good on a college application.  We spend so long prepping kids for college, do we even ask if they want to go?  All high school seems to be anymore is a trial run for college.  Maybe I should see if I can teach at the community one; at least there it’s no longer a push to get into college, because you’re already in.”

“Tavish, I would love to hear more about your crying girl, but I have to go,” Jane said as he abruptly stood up and threw money on the table to pay for his drink.

“Jane, lad, where are you running off to?” Tavish asked quickly, “Is everything alright?  You forget to feed your raccoons again?  They know how to feed themselves, Jane, just remember to cover your face when you head inside.”

“No, um, Tavish, the raccoons are well fed,”  Jane said slowly, “I have a date.”

“A date?  You have a date?” Tavish asked, his eye widening in disbelief as he stood up, “I thought this was date of sorts, one we’ve had set up for over a week.  One you said you were free for.  How did that change, Jane?”

“I’m sorry,” Jane said as he started to walk away, “But I think she’s the one.”

“And I thought we were friends,” Tavish yelled after Jane, “I guess we already know which one of us is mistaken, don’t we?”

Jane said nothing as he left, and Tavish fell back into the chair, drinking the rest of his alcohol in one long gulp.

“Conagher, I need another one,” Tavish said, “When you get the chance.”

Henrik also gulped down his drink, just so that Tavish didn’t feel so lonely about already needing a refill, and also requested another.  Was that what Jane had been talking about?  Had he really forgotten this night out with Tavish and him?

Love did terrible things to a body, didn’t it?

Henrik knew that from experience.  Even if it felt good to be in love, you’d still feel pain one way or another in the end.

Tavish seemed set on numbing that pain, though.  Numbing himself had been part of the reason that he had arranged this party in the first place.  Now that his best friend had run off on him, who was to stop him from indulging, possibly too much, tonight?

Not Henrik, that was for sure.  Unless Tavish looked like he was going to die of alcohol poisoning, he wasn’t going to interfere.  Wasn’t his place to, unless someone was going to get hurt.  

He, however, was going to limit his drinking.  If he tried to match Tavish mimosa for scotch, the acid would eat his stomach from the inside out.  For his fourth drink, instead of the orange juice, he tried the coffee liqueur instead, and found it quite good. 

Now that Jane had left, there was a role of protective, responsible shoulder to cry, or drool, on, to take, and Henrik would gladly be the one to assume it for Tavish if he was needed to.

As the night carried on, and Tavish’s drinking continued, it seemed that role was going to have to be filled more and more.

Someone behind Henrik has Tavish perking up, though.  Was that even a grin on the man’s face?  It might be.

“Edith!” Tavish called out, “How’sh my girl.  C’mere, I got someone I want ya’ ta’ meet each other.”

Edith?  Did he just say Edith?

Henrik felt a strange chill go down his back, and he slowly turned around to take a look at this “Edith”.

Blonde, curvy, and still beautiful.  Yes, it was indeed Edith.

Edith, his ex-wife to be exact.

The blonde froze when she saw Henrik, and a slight frown appeared on her face.

“Tavish, ve have met,” Edith said  frigidly as she moved to get closer to him.

“Yes,” Henrik said slowly, watching her walk around the table, “We already know each other...quite well.”

The sudden uneasiness was not something that Tavish missed, despite him being drunk, and he looked between them, leaning back suddenly as Edith slid into his lap.

“Edee, Hen-” Tavish was cut off by a sudden kiss from the blonde, and he leaned into it before pulling away, “...How do you two know each other?”

“Ve-” Henrik started to reply, but stopped as he glanced at Edith and then looked away, “Tavish-”

“Ve used to married.  Henrik is my ex-husband,” Edith said coldly, “My vorthless ex-husband.”

“Edith, I tried,” Henrik argued, “I tried to give you everyzhing.” 

“Und at the same time gave me nozhing,” She replied, stroking Tavish’s cheek, “You could not do anyzhing right, not even zhings zhat men are supposed to be  _gutt_  at.”

“Edith-”

“Married to your vork - it vas zhe only thing you vere gutt at making love to - you left me vanting so much more.  Someone who could give me vhat I vant.” 

“...Are ye’ kidding me,” Tavish said, speaking quickly, “Hen, she’s really...You two...I...”

“I just hope that you can give her what she wants,” Henrik said stiffly, “Obviously, she has many needs to be filled, the black hole in her chest where her heart should be takes all.”

“You didn’t even try.” She countered.

“I did, Edith, I did.” Henrik said, “But I realized it wasn’t enough for you, that you weren’t happy, so I let you go.”

“You gave up.”  
  
“I  _let_ you go,” Henrik argued, his voice hitting a shout before he quieted down, “I loved you, I still do, but I knew you didn’t me, not anymore.  So I let you go.”

 _“_ Say vhat you vant, call it vhat you vill, you still gave up,” She said, “Zhere vas a point zhat you did not even  _try_ anymore.”

“You didn’t give me much a reason to try.”

“I vould haff liked to zhink zhat I vas reason enough.”

“Not when I realized it vas over between us,” Henrik said, “Now you’re free to do that you want, be with anyone. Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes.” She answered bluntly.

“I figured as much.”

Tavish leaned back into his chair, away from Edith, as the realization finally hit him.

“I’ve been shagging your wife,” He said slowly to Henrik, his mouth twitching into a stunned smile as if he couldn’t believe it, “I have been shagging your wife, Henrik.  I’ve been  _shagging_ your  _wife.”_  

“Und doing an amazing job at it,” Edith said with a smile, leaning in for another kiss, “You are zhe best bedmate-”

She was cut off by Tavish suddenly shoving her off of him, his shock making it so that he didn’t want to touch her for the moment, and she stumbled on to the floor.

“Tavish?” She asked.

“Don’ touch me,” He said, “I’ve told you about Henrik, why didn’ ye’ ever say something.”

“It did not matter.  He does not matter,” She said as she stood up.

“It matters to me, he’s my friend and it turns out I’m shagging his wife behind his back,” Tavish said, slamming his chair into the table as he shoved it back into place, “One time.  You just had to say one damn thing and this would all be fine.”

“You are overreacting,” She said stiffly, “Sex should not be zhis much of a problem.  This should not matter for sex.”

“Was that all we had?  Sex?” Tavish said, “Was all we were a quick hop into bed a couple’o times?”

“Vhat else could we have been?  Ve had no relationship, ve veren’t going to” Edith said, “You knew zhat going in.”

“But I thought-” Tavish said, teeth gritting, “Weren’t we ever anything more?”

“No,” She said, a sudden sad look crossing her face, “Not to me.” 

Tavish’s hands curled into fists, and he looked at the woman with rage in his eye, but Henrik stood up before he could speak.

“Zhat’s not her fault, not if you knew it going in,” Henrik said, tilting his head up as he spoke, “I hope you enjoyed it, Tavish.  I hope you enjoyed every moment ‘shagging’ my ex-wife”

The Scotsman teeth were gritted and his breathing was heavy, almost as if he was preparing for a fight. 

“No more,” He said, shaking slightly, “Edith, no more.”

“No more?” She asked, “So we are through?”

“Did we ever even start?” He asked before confirming his stance, “We’re through.”

“Good day, zhen,” She said as she turned to leave, “I wish you vell, Tavish, goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Edith,” He said as he watched her wander off to a different part of the bar.

Henrik had also turned to watch her go, looked back at Tavish, and then opened his mouth to speak, but Tavish interrupted him.

“Don’t talk to me,” He said picking up his bottle, “I don’ even want to look at ye’, an’ I doubt you wanna look at me.”

“Tavish-”

“Don’t,” He warned, “Tonight’s been an absolute  _blast_ , Henrik, and I’ve decided I want to spend the rest of it alone.”

“But-”

“ _Alone_.  As in I’ll be at me’ own table, and you go wherever the hell you want, because I don’ care anymore.  Just go and leave me be.”

Henrik quietly complied with Tavish’ds request and left the table the same time as the other man did.  Henrik went to the bar, because he didn’t know what else to do, and Tavish went to a table in the back corner and laid his head on his arms.

Dell had been watching the scene unfold, but had wisely stayed out and let the threesome deal with it.  He had been ready to jump in if there had been any fighting, but a discussion, even a loud one like that, didn’t warrant him interfering, not unless someone was going to get hurt.  

It had been a delicate situation filled with raw emotions, and, like is inventions, it risked imploding if he had made a wrong move.  For the most part, even though they had split, this tide of anger looked like it would be one that would move past later

“Need a drink?” He asked Henrik as the German stepped up to the bar.

“Give me something stronger.”

“You got it,” Dell said, “Not much, though, just a little stronger right now.  Maybe a-”

“Give me whiskey.”

“Whoa there, that’s a big jump from a mimosa,” Dell said, “Maybe we start you off with a glass of wine and work up from there.”

“Red.”

“Red?  Alright-”

“Red vine. Big glass.”

“Care which kind?”

“Cheap.”

“You sure?”  
  
“ _Ja_.”

“One glass of cheap for the wallet but not cheap on the taste red wine coming up.”

The glass was soon in front of Henrik, who immediately started to drink it in decent-sized gulps.  

“Easy there.  You might wanna slow down a tad,” Dell said as he poured a scotch, “Henrik, watch the bar a second.  I’m going to go check on Tavish.”

Henrik barely heard his words, but they did register and he did exactly what was asked; he watched the bar as he leaned against the counter.

“That was quite the fight,” A gravelly voice said behind him, “Did anyone win?”

Henrik turned to see who was talking.  It was a tall man, muscular too.  His head was covered in a bandanna, save for the line of graying hair moving down the sides of his checks, there was some stubble on his chin, and there was an obvious tan on his face dictating where he some goggles would be resting on his face.  

“I don’t believe anyone did, no.” Henrik said, not in the mood to talk, especially not about the fight, “Terribly sorry for disturbing you.”

“Didn’t disturb me, I’m a man who likes action,” The stranger replied, “I saw that look in your eyes when you stood up.  You were ready for a fight, to dive over the table at that son of a bitch; I like that kind of pep.”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Henrik asked, annoyed by the stranger’s analysis of his reaction.

“Not yet.  But you could,” He replied as he leaned on the counter near Henrik and extended a hand, “Tyrus.  Tyrus Ferris Cheavy, nice to meet you...?”

“Vogler, Henrik Vogler,” The German replied, giving the man a brief, polite handshake, even though he was feeling far from having a conversation, “Are you as pretentious as your name sounds?”

“You look like a respectable sort of man,” Tyrus said, ignoring Henriks attempted insult, “What do you do for a living?  Are you a doctor?”

“Me?  No, no,” Henrik said, “I work in a coffee shop; I’m the manager.”

“Worked your way up the ranks then?” Tyrus said, edging closer to Henrik.

“I...suppose so, yes,” Henrik said, considering edging away from the man.

“You’re a tough cookie, but even cookies crumble eventually,” Tyrus said, “Looks like that woman you were arguing about was crushing you under her foot.”

“A bit, if you care to look at it that vay, but she just knows what she wants.”

“Your friend looks like a kicked dog,” Tyrus commented glancing past Henrik at Tavish before watching the German, “Both of you are just dogs, arguing over a bitch.”

“We were  _not_  arguing over her,” Henrik said looking towards Dell and Tavish to check on them, then he noticed Tyrus moving out of the corner of his eye and turned back to glare at him, “We are not dogs and she is not a bitch.”

“There’s the fight I wanted to see outta’ you,” The man said, his tone causing chills to crawl up Henrik’s spine, “Push your buttons just right and you become a different man.  I like it.”

“There’s nothing of me to like,” Henrik said flatly, “Nothing for you to, anyway.”

“I beg to differ; I think there’s a lot about you to like,” Tyrus said, “In fact I think I’d like to know you more.  Care to come have a drink with me, Bea, and the boys?”

“Zhat sounds like the name of a one-hit vonder,” Henrik commented, sipping at the end of his wine, “No, zhank you, I believe I vould like to stand here and drink.  By myself.”

“Don’t have much left to drink,” Tyrus pointed out, “That mean you’re just going to stand here?”

“It might,” Henrik said, feeling the alcohol finally starting to hit him.  Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t have the whiskey.

“Might?  Does that mean I still have a chance of getting you to join me and the gang for some booze?”

“No,” Henrik said, glad that Dell was coming back over, “It doesn’t.”

“Tyrus,” Dell said, getting back behind the bar, “You been harassing my customers again?”

“No,” Tyrus grunted.

“Henrik?” Dell asked.

“...A bit.” The German replied.

“That’s what I thought,” Dell said, looking up at Tyrus, “Get on now, leave the man alone and go back to your problematic posse.”

With grumble, Tyrus moved farther down the bar and, instead of rejoining the table of rowdy retirees at the front, he instead beckoned a plump grandmotherly-looking woman and a thin man with red mustache over and started talking quietly to them.

“Don’t pay him any mind,” Dell said to Henrik, “Need more to drink?”

“After zhat, yes,” Henrik said, “More vine, please.”

“Sure thing.”

It was quiet between the two of them, the sound of the alcohol being poured the only sound.  As Dell placed the glass in front of Henrik, the German couldn’t contain his worried curiosity any longer.

“How’s Tavish?” He asked.

“Terrible.” Dell replied plainly, “Tonight’s gone horribly for him.”

“Ah...Is there-”

Anything you can do?” Dell finished, “Not right now.  He needs some space tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, but it depends.  Can you forgive him for, um...screwing with your ex?”

“Yes.” Henrik said, wondering if the buzz was putting him in a forgivingly-good mood, “We are no longer married, she is her own person.  I may still love her, but only in the familial sense, I suppose.  Not in the lustful way, I don’t...To be honest, I’m not sure females...I can forgive him.”

“Good, that’s good.  It’s eating him up right now, he feel terrible about it. Says he should have put two and two...Wait, how do you say two in German?”

“ _Zwei_.”

“Ze-why and ze-why together and realized that you two might have known each other before.”

“Pshaw,  I’m sure there’s more zhan two German people in zhis city.  I don’t know zhem all, and I vas only married to one of zhem.  I’m actually kind of happy he didn’t assume zhat...not happy, but you get what I mean.”

“I do.” Dell said, “You’re a good man, Henrik.”

“Not really,” Henrik said tiredly as he sipped his drink, “According to Edith, I’m not very good at being a man either.”

“You are a good person.  More than you realize,” Dell said, “Just find someone you’ll believe to tell you that.”

“I von’t.” Henrik said decidedly, “Zhere’s no one.”

“You will,” Dell said, “Just because Edith didn’t work out doesn’t mean that you won’t fall in love again.”

“Love is terrible.”

“Is it?”

“It’s a curse, an affliction.”

“An awful lot of people are infected then, Doc.”

“Does it do anything beneficial?” Henrik asked, leaning on the counter,  “It makes one feel ill, heart-racing, stomach-flipping, shaking too.  Is love not just a small brief fever in our minds?”

“Oh, I think it does some things that are beneficial,” Dell said, “Would you know you’re in love if your heart wasn’t racing?  It’s like getting a paper cut; to know it’s there, it’s gotta sting, you gotta feel it somehow.  Love’s the same way.  It just wants to make it clear that there’s a person that means so much to you that you can hardly stand it.”

“It’s still an affliction.”

“Oh?  Is there a cure?”

“A few,” Henrik said with a slowly nod,  “You could die.”

“That’d get rid of the feeling, sure,” Dell replied in surprise, “Please tell me that’s a last resort.”

“A very last one,” Henrik said, “You could find out the other person loves you too; finding out zhat someone else is afflicted helps ease your own symptoms.”

“Symptoms?  The name ‘Doc’ is suiting you more and more,” Dell said, “Any others?”

“Yes.  You could fall out of love,” Henrik said, “You could stop loving zhe other person and zhen one day you notice that when you see zhem, the vorld still seems normal.  Zhere is no heart-racing, no shaking, not anymore.  Zhey’ve become just another person to you, and the vorld never seemed so lonely.”

“Something tells me you know a little bit about that last one.”

“I do.  It’s what happened to me,” Henrik said, “To both me and her.  Zhe vorst thing vas that they didn’t happen at the same time.  She stopped loving me long before I stopped loving her.  I still loved her when I signed that paper, it vas part of zhe reason zhat I did.”

“Ah, no wonder you don’t like love,” Dell said, “Time heals all wounds, Henrik, love’ll have a spark for you again one day.”

“No, I’ve come to terms vith zhe fact that I may love, but others vill not love me back,” Henrik said, nervously, and drunkenly, licking his lips, “You know, I’ve never understood zhat phrase.”

“Time heals all wounds?”

“ _Ja_ ,” He said, “A scar is still a scar.  It may have, ah, healed, but it is still zhere.  It may be healed, but it can never be...uh, be perfect again.”

“That’s the cost of living, Doc,” Dell said, cleaning out a glass, “No one is gonna get through life without gettin’ beat up on the way.  If they haven’t gotten any scars, did they really live?  Or did they just exist?”

“Dell, I’m drunk.  Now is not zhe time for a philosophy test.” Henrik said, “Besides, some scars do heal, and you never know zhat zhey vere ever zhere.  Who are we to judge?”

“Considerin’ you’re drunk, you’re doing fine, Henrik.  And not all scars are visible, not all injures are as obvious as a robotic hand might be,” Dell said, “We’ve all got scars somewhere, on our bodies, in our minds, in our souls...Some people are really good at covering them up.”

“Strong people, very strong.”

“Your own strength can only carry you so far,” Dell said, “One person tries to carry all their emotional baggage, they’re going to miss out on things.  Passing it off to others is what helps you move down the road faster, but you gotta be careful.  You wouldn' hand off one of your bags to some stranger at the airport, would ya’?  They might run off with it or rifle through, do something to hurt you.  That’s why you make sure when you ask for help, you ask people you trust.”

“Who do you trust, Dell?”

“Me?  Oh, I got some people,” He said, “....Did you tell Ash about my offer?”

“Yes,” Henrik replied, too tired to notice the conversation switch, “Zhey should be....later-”

Forgetting the word he needed, Henrik mimicked a phone with his hand, thumb and pinky out, to mime what he meant.

“Good, good,” Dell said, leaning down to look at Henrik, “You really are a lightweight, aren’t you?  ‘Fraid I might have to cut you off soon.”

Henrik made a groan of disappointment. He wanted to get drunk.  It felt like being tired after work, but he actually felt like sleeping.  Drunk was good.

Dell only had a moment to laugh before there was a crash, and some yelling, and he jerked his head up to look.  

The old woman had thrown a glass at the thin man, the one with the red mustache, but missed, the glass instead shattering against the wall to the left of the bar.

“Nigel, I  _will_  hurt you,” She threatened ambiguously, “Say that again to my face, I dare you.  I will make you regret it.”

Nigel ducked his heads another glass was launched in his direction.  Realizing that this fight wasn’t going to stop, and that someone might really get hurt this time, Dell raced out the bar on the right of the bar, past Tavish, who still had his head down, then around the front past Henrik, until he was dealing directly with the troublemakers.

There was a lot of fighting taking place, Henrik could hear that.  It sounded like it was underwater, like it was muffled somehow, and he started to lay his head on the bar, almost mimicking Tavish’s position in the far booth.

Before his face made it down, he felt a hand wrap around his waist, and gently pulling him back up.  He felt himself being guided, but was too tired - and dizzy, he hadn’t tried to walk until now and hadn’t realized how dizzy he was - to care.  He felt his head being leaned up against someone, a muscular someone, but didn’t feel the need to open his eyes much, they were too heavy anyway.

“C’mon now, Henrik Vogler,” A familiar, grating voice said as a sudden blast of cold, hard rain- they were outside now- hit Henrik, “I’m in need of some of your attention.”

Henrik heard a car door open, and before he could push himself away from Tyrus, he was in the passenger seat of a car.

Oh no.

Misha was heading to the coffee shop even earlier tonight.  He goes at ten, the place was closed, he goes at nine-thirty, the place was closed, today he’s going at nine so he can finally catch Henrik and talk with him and make sure the man’s alright.

His plan would have gone perfectly if Henrik hadn’t closed up shop at eight thirty today.

Seeing the place closed up, the lights out and the chairs up, Misha growled slightly, debating whether or not he should leave right this second, or pull up to see if the same sign as the last times was the one hanging in the window.

What could taking a second to pull up hurt?  He might as well.

The icy rain hit his windshield and it wasn’t offering much encouragement for him to get out of the car to see why the shop was closed this time.  It was closed, that was all there was to it.  

There was a sudden thump against this car, and he saw Scout, the young barista, standing in the rain motioning for him to roll down his window.  Misha obliged.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Scout said, shaking slightly, his body stiff from waiting so long, “I knew you w-were gonna show up.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re l-looking for Henrik, right?” Scout asked, brushing off the man’s question,  “He’s at Conagher’s, the b-bar across town.  You know it, r-right?  I think everyone knows about it one w-way or the other.  Anyway, he’s over there, ha-hanging out with some friends for stuff or s-s-something.”

“Why are you telling’ me this?”

“Because it’s my fault you stopped comin’, right?  I w-want to fix that,” Scout said, “He’s been d-disappointed you haven’t been comin’.”

“He keeps closing early, before I come.”

“His car b-broke d-down, he needs the t-time to walk home,” Scout said, “Besides, why did you stop coming right after I gave you his number?”

“Went to airport to fetch sister who come early from Russia, was long day, stayed home for her.”

“O-Oh.”

That made some kind of sense, Scout thought as he rubbed his hands together to keep warm, it really did.  Wait.

“Wh-Why didn’t you c-call him?” He asked, “I g-gave you his number, why d-din’t you call?”

“Did.  He was talking to ladyfriend.”

“He’s g-got a ladyfriend?” Scout asked, pausing for a moment, “W-Was it a Pauling?”

Appalling?  To find out that Henrik had a ladyfriend that he might be romantically in love with and that he had been interesting in a taken, possibly straight, man?  Did Misha find that appalling?

“Yes” He decided.

“Oh, okay, cool,” Scout said, his reaction confusing Misha, “They were probably talking about European coffee or something...”  
  
Scout paused.  Why was he out here in the cold talking to this Russian?

“Oh, Henrik!” He remembered, “G-Go to the b-bar, dude.  If you’re l-looking for Henrik, go t-to the bar.”

“You live close?” Misha asked.

“To here?  Ish, yeah, I can call a ride.”

“I will take you,” Misha said, “Get in car.”

“No, w-wait, you need to g-go to the bar, I mean, if you w-want,  you can’t be g-giving me-”

“Sooner you get in car, sooner I get to bar.”

“That s-sounds like rap.  You a rap star?” Scout asked as he hurriedly climbed into the seat and buckled himself in, “Okay- first we gotta leave here and then go to the right light, take a left-”

Even if Misha had immediately headed for the bar after his conversation with Scout, Misha still wouldn’t have caught Henrik.  He was gone, in a car now with a man who he had only just met and certainly didn’t trust.

Henrik made a move to unlock the car, so he could try to get away, but as soon as he moved the lever, the car was locked again with the push of a button.  

Damn you, automatic controls.

“Huh uh, no,” Tyrus said, “You and me are going you spend some time together, get to know each other a bit, talk some.  I can’t have you running away from me or killing yourself trying to.”

Henrik growled, a low deep noise in the back of his throat.  Speech had left him, words were too hard to find, so talking was out.  Letting his feelings be known, however, was an entirely different story, one he could tell without words.

“If you hadn’t been so goddamn rude back in the bar, acted like a civil human, then I wouldn’t be doing this,” Tyus said, “Maybe I’ll teach you to act like a goddamn decent human while we’re together.”

He reached a hand over to stroke at Henrik’s cheek, and received a nip on the finger for his efforts.  Crying out as he yanked his hand back, he slapped Henrik on the face.

“Maybe acting like a _human_  will be our first step.” He muttered, shaking his sore hand.

Henrik knew he needed to get out of here.  Every second spent this car was a second he’d have wasted.  Getting away from this man, whatever he wanted, was priority number one.

There wasn’t much he do, though.  His opponent was stronger than him, larger too, so direct fighting would result in the German losing.  He had do to something sudden, something to surprise his captor, but something that wouldn’t get them both killed.

Acting out in a car was dangerous, but he didn’t want to find out what would happen if he waited.  

In the cupholder, there was a bottle, a beer the man was drinking, a pocket knife, a lighter, some change, and a few cigarette butts.  Unless Henrik could nickel and dime him to death, the change was straightaway out.

The lighter and the knife was good weapons, but dangerous options considering his state.  The chance he’d badly hurt himself was as bad as if he’d manage to hurt Tyrus.  Those items were too dangerous to trust.

Cigarette butts, he could toss them and maybe blind the man.  Maybe, maybe...  Henrik leaned forward slightly a bigger effort than he imagined, and looked at his captor.  He was wearing those damn goggles. Blinding him was out.

That left the bottle.  Without taking much time to plan, or think, Henrik picked up the bottle and smashed it across the man’s face, causing him to swerve, slam on the brakes, and swear loudly. Despite his clumsy fingers, Henrik managed unlock the door and basically fall out of of the car away from Tyrus.  

He fell on his face, slipping on the wet pavement, breaking his glasses, and then took off running as best he could, the beer, and some blood, his or Tyrus’ he didn’t know, dripping down his arms.  Getting back to Conagher’s was the plan, it was probably the closest place to go that both knew and knew was open.

How he was going to complete this plan, he wasn’t sure.

He stumbled down some roads, not caring where he was going right off the bat as long as he was getting away from that man.  He started stumbling down a main road, towards the large bridge in the city.  

It was here that his pace started to falter, and his directional control began to swing wildly, out of control.  Slowing down, he started to sway more, first stumbling into the road, into traffic, and then back towards the edge of the bridge, into the guardrails, as the few car horns around urged him back.

Was he just drunk?  He had never been this drunk in his life before, and he had not had that much to drink at the bar.  This was ridiculous.  Dangerous and ridiculous.

He wasn’t going to stay upright much longer, he was going to fall.  He couldn’t fall, he had to keep moving.  He couldn’t keep moving, it was freezing, the rain was soaking into his clothes, his body felt heavy.  He couldn’t let that stop him, but he might have to.

In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder where he was going to die.  Was he going to be hit by one of the few cars passing by, or was he going to go over the bridge rails and drown in the water below?

It might be the cars.  Before he’s aware of what he’s doing, he stumbles back into the road.  He’s barely holding himself in a standing position, he can’t move back, he doesn’t have the strength to.

This is it, this is how he dies.

There’s a shrill squeal of brakes as the car slams to a stop, though what car it is he can’t tell.  If the blurry vision, lack of glasses, and heavy eyelids weren’t a problem, the blinding headlights would be.

When the day started, it had been so wonderful, so full of potential, and Henrik had actually been looking forward to it.  How had he ended up about to fall unconscious in the middle of a rain-soaked road after almost being kidnapped, he had no idea. 

He doesn’t have time to analyze much, though, because his body starts to crumple to the ground.  His legs give out, and he’s collapsed onto the slick road.  The strength in his arms is all that kept his face from hitting the ground once again, and that’s also giving out.

The last thing he sees is the silhouette of the driver as they hurriedly exit the vehicle, and they looked tall, strong, like the person he was wishing the most for it to be. 

Knowing his luck, especially today, it wasn’t.  It couldn’t be.  He couldn’t trust his eyes to tell him the truth, not with the terrible shape he was in

But the last thing he hears before he passes out, a sound he sorely wished he could have replied to somehow, makes him think that he might end up alright somehow after all.

Because the last sound he heard was a deep, Russian voice worriedly saying his name:

“...Henrik?” 


	6. Russian to Get Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic originally posted here: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/133667194292/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-6  
> Likes and reblogs are by no means required, but are certainly appreciated.
> 
> I've been working on this for the last three evenings. I'll reread and edit it later, but for now, enjoy.

“…Henrik?”

Misha didn’t manage to utter anything else before he witnessed Henrik fall to the ground.  It took only a moment before Misha was right by Henrik’s side, checking on him, carefully checking him over before seeing if he could help the other man up.  It was easy to ignore the shock of the freezing rain, over the shock was that taking place right now.

Was he hurt?  Was he drunk?  He had been at a bar, so he might be drunk.  But the bar was a few blocks away, and from what Misha had seen, Henrik had barely been able to walk just a few feet, so there was no way he had been able to walk from the bar, not in his condition.  So how was he here?

That would have to be answered later.  Right now, he had an unconscious, soaked man to take care of and the first step would be to get him out of the road.

Misha first tried to see if Henrik could walk, gently starting to help the man to his feet.  Henrik leaned heavily against him, and would have immediately sagged back to the ground if a strong arm hadn’t hooked around his back and grasped his side.  

Though the two of them headed back to the car together, only one of them was really walking.  It was only concern for Henrik’s pride that kept Misha from scooping the German into his arms and carting him over to the car bridal style.  It would have been a lot faster, and the few cars honking in the road behind him would have probably appreciated it, but this was for Henrik’s sake.  

All of this was for Henrik’s sake.  The days of driving to the shop, the trek out here, this soaking wet stop in the rain.  All of what Misha had done, or attempted in the last few days, was for Henrik in some way or another.  

And Misha wasn’t regretting one minute of it.

Opening up the passenger door with his free arm, Misha carefully guided Henrik into the seat.  He made a move to go back around to the driver’s side, but stopped.  Stripping off his coat, he put it around Henrik, giving the poor man at least some kind of warmth for the drive.  It was too cold to be running around with out a coat of some kind, and Henrik was a sensible man, too sensible to be out in this weather like this.  

It didn’t make sense, he thought as he headed back his the driver’s side of the car, climbing in before he was too soaked,.  It just didn’t.

Alcohol might be blamed for this scenario.  Misha had gotten a whiff of some booze, and Scout had told him that Henrik was at a bar,  The smell hadn’t been strong though, not strong enough to knock a man of Henrik’s size down that easily.  Unless the German was the world’s biggest lightweight, then something wasn’t adding up.

That was a something that Misha was going to have to figure out later.  Right now, he needed to get Henrik back to his own place.  The problem was, he didn’t know where that was.

Moving his car wasn’t that big of an issue.  The cars behind him had realized they needed to go around, but he was in the way, so he drove only a short way’s up to an empty parking lot, to give him time to think.  Henrik lived close enough to his shop that he could walk there, but he had to close the place up early so that he could get there before dark.  If he assumed the man’s walking speed was decent, then…

Then it meant that it could be at least a hundred places, and Misha didn’t have the time nor the patience for that.  Not when there was another, obvious option staring him right in the face.

He’d use Henrik’s phone and call Scout.  The boy seemed a good bit about Henrik, so maybe he’d know that too.  

Maybe Misha should have thought about getting the phone before seating the other man.  Well, no matter.  Henrik was mostly unconscious, just mumbling a bit occasionally, so he shouldn’t mind Misha getting the phone out of his pocket.

The question was which pocket contained the phone.  The man had more than one, and the phone could be in any of them, assuming it was here.

Sighing, Misha began the gently search for Henrik’s phone, making sure to touch only his pockets and nothing else that Henrik might take be angry about later.

Well, he’d probably be angry about his pockets being searched, but with Misha being the only coherent one around to make decisions, Henrik was going to have to cut him some slack.  

Speaking of slacks, it was a good thing that slacks were what Henrik was wearing.  if the man had on tighter pants, then Misha and his paws would have never been able to get the phone out, as he eventually did. 

Henrik’s phone was a small flip phone with a tiny screen and tiny buttons.  As least they were tiny to Misha.  Which was just fantastic.

Thank goodness Henrik had Scout’s number saved in his phone.  The Russian forced himself to pass by a number that was listed as belonging to a Jane, and instead just call Scout, because there was a more important task at hand to deal with.

“Scout’s athletic training.  You want to get better, I want you to get better, it’s a win-win that can help you be a win-winner!”

“Scout?”

“Oh, um, hey, big guy,” Scout said, “Did you catch Henrik?”

“Is his phone.”

“Oh, really?” Scout asked, “Guess I should check who’s calling me more.”

“Yes.”

“Heh,” Scout said, “Wait, why are you calling me anyway?”

“Where does Henrik live?”

Scout paused on the other end of the phone.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Found him passed out.”

“He passed out?” Scout said with a surprised laugh, “He drank until he passed out?  I didn’t think he was the type to do that.  Seemed more…I don’t know, pulled together.”

“Will talk more later,” Misha said, implying there was more to the story, even if he wasn’t sure about it, “Where does he live?”

“Back way on the other side of town,” Scout said, “Your place is probably closer.”

“But that does not-”

“Just let him sleep at your place, man, it’ll be easier than trek up stairs, hauling his ass with you,” Scout said, “I’ll pop by his place and check on his pets.  I’ve still got the key from last time I bird-sat, so don’t worry about that.”

“Scout, is still not-”

“Thanks for taking care of him.  Talk to you later.”

“Wait-”

Scout then hung up and tucked his phone in his pocket, getting ready to find a reason to head back out into the rain despite having just taken a shower.  No matter, he’d find a reason.  Even if he just told the truth, that he had to go take care of his manager’s pets, he’d find a reason.

Misha, however, had only been given reasons to take Henrik to his place.  He wondered if Scout had done that on purpose, or if the boy was just as scatterbrained as he had sounded.

Whether or not Scout had had a goal in mind, Misha didn’t have a choice in the matter.  The only information that Scout had given him was that Henrik’s place had stairs leading it up it, and Scout was right in that Misha would rather not have to carry Henrik up them.  

It seemed like the only logical to take Henrik to his house.  It was for his good after all.

Turning out of the parking lot, Misha carefully drove to his place.  He took a moment at every stop light to check on his unconscious passenger, to make sure that Henrik was alright.  As alright as he could be considering the situation anyway.

Henrik was leaning up against the window, with Misha’s coat draped over his form like a small blanket, one that was starting to slip off his shoulders.  His head bobbed softly, like he was trying to wake up but couldn’t quite get past the sleeping stage.  The soft glow of a street lamp illuminated Henrik’s face, and it would have made him look almost serene if it were’s for the bruises and blood on his face.  

Seeing those injuries on Henrik did nothing but add more questions to Misha’s ever growing pile.  Why had Henrik been running around out in this weather?  Why was he injured?  Where did he live?  Was he okay?  And who was Jane?

Maybe, eventually, Misha would be able to find out some answers.  In the meantime, though, he was going to kick up the heat on a notch for the ride home, to help defrost his passenger, and focus on getting Henrik somewhere more comfortable until the man could wake up and answer some of those questions.

Eventually, Misha pulled in front of his house and turned the car off.  Moving around the vehicle, he more than half-carried the German to door this time, and held his limp form in one arm as he unlocked the door with the other.

Hefting Henrik inside his house, Misha shut the door behind him, turning back just in time to see Zhanna peeking out from the doorway.

“Hello, Misha,” She said with a mischievous grin.

“Did you bring man home?” He asked, relieved to see her safe after her date tonight.

“Yes,” She replied with a nod, “He is in my room.”

Misha frowned.

“You brought man home?  And he is in your room?” Misha asked, “If he tries to hurt you, kill him.  You are strong girl, I know you can.”

“Yes, I know,” Zhanna replied, “But killing is not planned for tonight.

“Do not be shy, kill if you must,” Misha said, readjusting Henrik’s limp form in his arms.

“Who are you holding?” Zhanna asked, her smile turning to a teasing one, “Is it your manager?”

“Is the coffee manager, yes-”

“Looks like you already did the love-makin-” She paused as she looked the man over, feeling as though she recognized him.  Her pause gave her brother time to interrupt her with a strange request.

“Zhanna, need pants.”

“You have pants,” She responded.

“ « _Zhanna, I need a pair of pants for Henrik_ , »  ” Misha said in Russian, indicating the man in his arms, “ « _The rain has soaked him completely, and I want to keep him from getting sick. » ”_

 _“ « Do you want me to start a fire?  Go collect some blankets?» “_ Zhanna asked quickly, replying in Russian to her brother, _“ « Make soup?  Foot-rub?  Are limbs numb?  We should warm him up.  Before we have to amputate.  Take your pants off, Misha.  I will also take pants off. » ”  
_

_“ « Zhanna, no. _»_ ” _Misha said bluntly,his words making Zhanna pause with one leg out of her trousers.

“ _ _«_ Zhanna, yes.»"_

 “ « _Please keep pants on, little bear.  Just go fetch pair of your pants, please, warm ones.  They will fit him better then mine would. » ”_

 _“ « Want me to make fire? » “_ Zhanna asked, putting her pants back on, tucking into her room for a moment and reemerging with a pair of her pajama pants, and an extra warm shirt, in hand.

 _“ « I will take care of him, Zhanna, thank you, »”_ Misha replied.

“ « _Oh, I am sure you will_   »” Zhanna replied, her teasing grin returning.

“ « _Mind out of ditch, Zhanna » ,”_ Misha said, a huff of annoyance in his voice, “ « _Why did you choose these pants for him? » “_

“ « _First pair I found, only bed pants I am not wearing. »_ ” Zhanna replied with a shrug.

“Everyone is talking and I have no idea what they are saying!” Jane announced, poking his head out of Zhanna’s room, “Oh, hello, Henrik!”

Unsurprisingly, Henrik did not reply, and Jane felt a bit slighted by his manager’s rudeness.  He could shrug it off though, and just assume the man was tired.  Henrik did work long hours, and Jane could appreciate, and proudly salute, someone who had as much dedication to their business as Henrik did.

“Please go back into room,” Misha told his sister’s date, “Now.  Both of you.  I will take care of Henrik.”

“You do not tell me what to do, buster,” Jane said, making a move to step out from behind the door frame.  Zhanna put a hand out and stopped him.

“We go back to room,” She told him, “And then we make love.”

That was the type of order Jane was willing to accept, and he happily tucked back into the room with Zhanna closing the door right behind them.   

Misha would try his best to honor his sister’s decision, and leave her and her lover alone for now, but eventually Misha was going to have a talk with him.  He didn’t even know the man’s name, after all.  

Maybe they would have a talk in the morning.  Yes, that sounded good.  They’d have a nice, calm, non-threatening talk over breakfast, assuming that Zhanna didn’t need to kill that man tonight.  Either way was fine with Misha.

Before any talking could take place, Henrik had to be taken care of.  The man was soaked and Misha had delayed enough already. 

The Russian made his way to a guest bedroom in his house, one that had been set up specifically for not-yet-present guests.  They would not mind Henrik spending the night in here, not if they ever found out.  

Knowing Zhanna, though, she would tell their sisters, and their mother, the moment they landed.  So it was a good thing that they wouldn’t mind.

Misha laid Henrik down on a bed, and then placed the clothes next to him.  It wouldn’t do to have the man sleeping in these wet clothes, he would end up catching a cold, or worse.  It was probably for the best that Misha help him into something drier.

So why was it so difficult to take the first step and removing Henrik’s clothing?  

Maybe it was because he only knew the man in a formal way.  They had yet to have a decent conversation where Henrik was not behind a counter.  They weren’t even friends, were they? They weren’t anything more than occasional chat buddies, no matter how much Misha wanted to think otherwise.

Even if he thought he saw a look of interest in Henrik’s eye every time they talked, Misha couldn’t assume that.  He had been wrong before.

He’d just have to approach this in the right way.  They weren’t lovers, this wasn’t an intimate moment.  This was just a man trying to help another man.  By undressing the other.  Yes.  This was just a normal thing, and he didn’t need to think of it any other way.

He platonicly unbuttoned Henrik’s pants, sliding them off in the most uninterested way possible.

Dark green boxers.  Misha didn’t knew what he expected to find under Henrik’s clothes.  The man didn’t seem to be the type to wear anything ridiculous, even under where no one could see.  

Misha knew whether Henrik wore boxers or briefs, and then hadn’t even gone on a date yet.  That was something that the Russian found amusing.

No, wait, he couldn’t be thinking like that.  Right now, he was just a guy helping out another guy, nothing more.  The last thing he needed to be doing was thinking of things that weren’t going to happen.  Focus was what he needed, because the sooner that he undressed Henrik, the sooner he could dress him again.

While slipping Zhanna’s pajama pants over Henrik's legs, the German started to stir and his eyes partially opened.

“ _Was ist…Woher?”_ He muttered as he tried to look around, his words slurred heavily.

Misha watched as Henrik’s eyes moved slowly, seemingly focusing on nothing.

“Is okay,” Misha said, stepping to the side so he wasn’t standing directly over Henrik, “Is okay, Henrik.  Go back to sleep.”

It took a moment for Henrik to hear Misha’s voice, but when he did he looked directly at Misha’s eyes, or at least that’s what the Russian would think he saw.

“Mish-” Henrik paused, his head starting to tilt to the side, before speaking with Misha dared to think was a small smile, “ _Schön dich zu sehen.”_

Misha didn’t know what “Shun dick Susan” meant, but he was going to think that Henrik wasn’t actually talking about a Susan.  He didn’t get a chance   If the Russian was lucky, then maybe a lot of German words sounded like female names and “Jane” was actually the equivalent for the word “car”, or something like that.

It was a slim chance, but it was one that Misha was ready to take if offered.

Getting back to his task, Misha took off Henrik’s button down shirt.  Though speed was his goal, once the shirt was unbuttoned , Misha found himself taking a moment to look at Henrik’s torso. 

But only for a moment.  He had a job to do, and not even Henrik’s sturdy, strong, lightly covered with dark hair, torso with a faint mark of where some abs had been, would distract him from it for long, even with as gorgeous as the man was. Before a minute had passed, Misha had pulled the wet shirt completely off and had replaced it with a nice, dry, warm one, pausing only to lightly bandage the few cuts on Henrik's arm.  Where had those come from?

Gently lifting the man up, Misha moved the covers back and tucked Henrik in.  He turned to leave, but stopped, thinking of one last thing he wanted to do, especially since Henrik was passed out.  Misha fetched a trash can from the corner of the room, and placed it on the floor by the head of the bed.  Adjusting Henrik’s head, he tilted it so he was facing to the side, over the edge of the bed, in the direction of the trash can.  

The last thing he wanted Henrik to do was to choke on his on vomit, if he vomited, overnight.  Misha wasn’t going to stay, or sleep, in here overnight and babysit the man, he had other things…

Who was he kidding?  He was probably going to stay and sleep in here overnight so he could babysit the man.  There were two beds in here, after all, so he might as well.

With a sigh, Misha went to go get ready for bed.  He might bring a book too, because he got the feeling that his new room mate wouldn’t mind if the light was on for a while.  What better time to finish reading  _Eugene Onegin_ yet again then with a long night like this?

When Henrik woke up the next morning, it was slow.  His eyes were slow to open, his body was slow to move, and his mind was slow to work.  There was a sour taste in his dry mouth, and he wished for a drink to wash both of those sensations away.

It took a moment for him to realize that this wasn’t his ceiling.  His ceiling was textured, and this one was quite smooth.  Maybe it actually was his ceiling.  Last time he had gotten drunk in his apartment, admittedly a while ago, he found that he had painted the walls.  Finding out that he had taken a scraper to the ceiling wasn’t too far out there.

But when he saw it wasn’t his room, and that there was another bed in here, one that was perfectly made, he realized that he was not in his apartment.  

Where was he and why was his head ringing so much?  Thinking hurt.

Sliding the blanket off, he looked down at his clothes.  Bright pink pajama pants, decorated by a white, bow-wearing cat that didn’t have a mouth, and a fluffy orange sweater.  Though both garments were admittedly warm, this would not be his first choice of attire.  Or his second.  He was certain it wouldn’t even be in the top ten.

He was in a strange room, wearing strange clothes, with no hint of where he was.  Nothing in the room offered him any clue either.  It was a bedroom with two beds, and the usual bedroom furniture.  Nothing stood out.

Well, maybe something would stand out if he stood up and looked around.  Or he could just leave the room and see where he was.  He doubted that whoever lived here was that cruel or hostile, they had dressed him in pink cat pants, and he doubted that pink cat pants were owed by malicious people.  

In fact, there were only two reasons that he was in these pants: either the person he had gone home with had the strangest fetish, or he had needed a change of clothes last night.  He preferred to think the latter.

It soon came to his attention that standing up was quite difficult.  Even sitting up was quite the task.  His head rang and pounded, and his stomach lurched every time he moved.  Some burning liquid tried to move up his throat, and he had to swallow that acidic wave back down.  He really wanted that drink now.

Still, he needed to move.  Even if it was Saturday - he hoped to God it was still Saturday -  he had a business to run.  A weekend was not time off, not for him, and he needed to start moving.  

It was a shame that his body didn’t want to cooperate with that thought, not completely.  All he managed to do was sit up for a bit before his headache forced him to fall back down against the pillow.  At least when he laying down, he didn’t have to fight his lack of balance, instead he only had to fight the raging headache.

Before he had been laying down for long there was a soft set of knocks on the door.  When the Misha received only a groan as a reply, he slowly opened the door, taking a moment to peek inside.  The sight he was greeted with was Henrik covering his eyes with his hand, mumbling something to himself in German.

Misha took some quiet steps over to the bed and he gently placed a glass of water on the bedside table.  Taking a moment to look over Henrik’s groaning form, he waited a moment before he spoke.

“How’s head?” The Russian asked, making a moving to go pick up his book off of the dresser.

“Hurts.” Henrik replied, pausing when he realized who’s voice was talking to him.  He frowned slightly, and then barely pulled his hand off his eyes to look around.  

His eyes locked with Misha’s for only a moment, before Henrik covered his back up.  If he hadn’t covered them, then he would have noticed that Misha had looked away at the same moment, looking over his book before he picked it up.  The Russian shouldn’t have had been rushing to pick up the book.  Now what excuse did he have to loiter and subtly check on Henrik’s state?

“What happened last night?” Henrik asked slowly, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.  Waking up in another person’s bed usually meant one thing had happened, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear Misha, a man he only knew as a customer, saying that he -

“Found you passed out on road last night.  Brought you here to my house to let you sleep and dry off,” Misha paused, “If you are hungry, breakfast will be ready soon.  You have water now too.  Need anything else?”

Henrik stayed silent a minute, processing everything he had just been told.  He had been found on the road last night, passed out?  Why had he-

His thoughts were cut off as a sharp pain entered his temple, and he groaned.  Thinking hurt.  Why did thinking have to hurt so much?

“Do you have any Advil?” Henrik asked, hand still covering his eyes, “Or something else that could help my head?”

“Hungover that badly?” Misha asked, quietly closing the curtain all the way, making sure that there wasn’t even a crack of light peeping through, “Have Advil here, yes, but you should take it with food.”

“Do I have to?” Henrik asked.  The thought of having to ingest something, especially with how ill he felt now, made him feel queasy.

“Should, but don’t have to.  But really should,” Misha answered, taking some careful steps towards Henrik’s form, offering the man a packet with a pain relief pill, “Drink water too.  That will help.”

With a sigh, Henrik removed the hand from his eyes, and looked at the side table where the glass was.  Disregarding Misha’s words, he took the packet, opened it, and down the pill with a large gulp of water.

There was also a clock on the side table, and he couldn’t help but try to read it as he put the glass back down. 

“What time does zhe clock say?” He asked quickly, hoping that his eyesight, as bad as it was, wasn’t right for once.

“Is ten thirty.  Just about,” Misha said, “Why?”

Henrik moved quickly, just about throwing the covers off of him.  His hand immediately slid down his leg, looking for the pocket that held his phone.  Of course, in this pair of soulless cat pajama pants, there were no pockets, and no phone to be found.

“Do you have my phone?  Did you take it?” Henrik asked, steadying himself with his other hand.

“Yes,” Misha replied slowly, crouching down to pick the phone up from under the side table, taking a moment to unplug it from the charger, “Your phone was almost dead.  Plugged it in to charge.  Here you are.”

Henrik snatched the flip phone out of Misha’s large hand, offering a quick “thank you” as he flipped it open and started to look at the screen.  It was at this moment that Henrik’s speed dropped considerably.  He squinted and brought the phone closer to his eyes, and then held it out farther away.  Without his glasses, it was next to impossible for him to read the blobs that were supposedly letters and numbers on the bright screen.

“Do you have my glasses too?” Henrik asked as he continued to try to use the phone, a hand idly checking the top of his head.  That’s where his glasses usually ended up when they were missing.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t the answer this time.

 “No.  You did not have glasses with you,” Misha said, the bed dipping under him as he took a seat next to Henrik, “Who are you calling now?”

“I need to call Scout.  To let him know that I need him to check on my birds when he has zhe time,” Henrik answered quickly, “I just can’t read zhe names on here now.”

“Do you know his number?” Misha asked, ready to make a call on his phone if Henrik couldn't work with his own device.  Even if Misha's phone wasn’t needed, he could at least punch in the numbers for the poor man, if Henrik's pride would let his ask for help.  Despite Misha;s large fingers, he felt he’d be more successful than Henrik trying to read something he clearly could not.  He had already made a call on Henrik's phone, after all, not that he was going to tell the German that.

“No, not off zhe top of my head,” Henrik admitted, “I should, I really should, but I’ve just used the saved number so much, I don’t remember what it is.”

“Danger of technology.  Easy to input and forget.  A positive yes, but also a negative,” Misha said, “You have many missed calls.”

“How many?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve?” Henrik asked in surprised, “Never had that many at once before.  Probably Dell.  Maybe Tavish too.  Or maybe...”

He didn’t even want to think about how many of those calls were Jane yelling into the answering machine, trying to figure out why Henrik wasn’t at the shop yet.  The German was going to save listening to those for a time where his head wasn’t hurting this much.

Misha noticed the pause, and attempted to subtly change the subject for Henrik’s sake.  Though he did want to know what man was going to say, he felt it was probably a conversation that Henrik didn’t want to be having right now.  Instead of figuring out who the “or maybe” was, Misha swung the conversation back to the young barista that the two of them knoew quite well. 

“Is he in there as Scout?”

“Yes.”

“You are only in M’s.  Keep moving down,” Misha said, pausing as Henik continued to push the down arrow, “...Is his name Scout?”

“No.” Henrik answered, “It’s not his actual name.  He prefers to be called it.  It’s a nickname his father gave him when he was younger, and he treats it like a name.  It’s a simple request.  I don’t mind entertaining it.”

“In P’s now.  Keep going,” Misha said, noticing the screen brightness and the strain of trying to read bothering Henrik, “I will tell you when to stop.  Has he worked with you long?”

“Right now he’s one of my most experienced employees.  He started it as a summer job and somehow he’s never left.  Most of my other former employees have either quit or been fired-”

“Stop there.  On Scout now.” Misha interjected.

“-Except for Jane,” Henrik finished his cut off sentence, and then paused, “I am?  Zhank you.”

Henrik pushed the call button, Identified by the green, blurry splotch Henrik saw on it, and stood up as he took a step or two away from Misha and started to talk into the phone.  Misha, meanwhile, was regretting having spoken before Henrik could finish his sentence and talk more about this Jane person. 

“Hello?  Scout?”  Henrik said, his back now to Misha, “Yes.  Zhis Henrik.”

Scout, who was across town, laying down on his bed, grinned as he sluggishly sat up.  Getting woken up by a call was never something that he loved, but after the great night that Henrik has probably had, thanks to him, this call was alright.

“Did ya have a good night, Hen?” Scout asked, “How was the party at the bar?”

“Terrible. Everything went terribly, ” Henrik said, much to Scout’s surprise and disappointment, “But that’s not why I’m calling. ”

“Why you calling then?”

“Do you still have the key to my apartment?”

“From birdsitting, yeah.”

“Are you able to go over to my apartment now and check on them?” Henrik asked, a slight sway in his stance.  That sway was something that Misha noticed and he stood up and wrapped a gentle arm around Henrik and guided the man back to sitting on the bed next to the Russian once more.

“Your birds? Yeah, sure. Didja not go home last night? ” Scout asked, feigning ignorance about his manager's situation, “Where are ya’?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m fine.” 

“Not what I asked, but alright,” Scout said, “What are your birds called, anyway?”

“Archimedes, Bacchylides and Copernicus.”

“...Why did you name that one bird after an STD, Hen?”

“Vhat?”

“I’m just kidding ya’, man, I’ll go take care of Archie, STD, and Heavy metal group.”

“Archie, STD-...Scout, do you know anything about history?”

“Yeah, it’s full of dead people who did stuff.”

“Scout, please stop talking now,” Henrik said, “Can I ask you another favor?”

“You can ask, Hen. What’s it?”

“Would you be interested in taking the morning shift with Jane?”

“What? Why?”

“I can’t make the morning shift. If you can’t, I’ll ask Ash, but I wanted to ask you first.”

“Couldn’t you just tell Jane not to work today?”

“Jane thrives with routine, an unbreakable one,” Henrik replied, unaware that he was leaning against Misha, “I’m sure that even if the store burned down he’d still try to open it.”

Scout laughed.

“You got that right,” He said, “Alright, you convinced me, Hen.  I can go in this morning, but I get off by three at the latest.”

“Three?”

“I’ve got that date with Miss Pauling at the ball game.  The makeup one for the local series championship,” Scout said, “The original game was canceled because of a raccoon invasion in the visiting dugout.  Everyone had to take the last few weeks off to get rabies shots.  One guy even had to get his pinky toe sewn back on.”

“How-?...” Henrik paused, “Actually, no, never mind.  Don’t answer that.  Three works fine.  I’ll be there before then.  Probably.” 

“Birds then work, alright, I can do that,” Scout said, “You got it.  I can do that for you, Henrik.  Enjoy your morning, man, alright?  Have a good one.”

“I-”  

Scout hung up before Henrik could say anything more, leaving the German hanging.  The cut-off conversation was blessing for Henrik and his aching head, so he wasn’t going to feel slighted that the pounding was no longer accompanied by someone talking.

And then Misha spoke.

“Are you going to call the others now?”

“I’d rather not.  Not now.” Henrik sighed, “I should.  Zhat many missed calls, I really should.”

“I could call for you.”

“You could,” Henrik said, pausing as he mused over that option, “No.  Thank you, but no.  I should do it.  I’ll do it in a bit.”

It was at this point that Henrik realized that he was leaning against Misha, and he promptly swayed to the other side to straighten himself out.  Trying to keep as much of his pride as possible intact, Henrik redirected his attention to straightening out the shirt he was wearing.  It came to his attention that, in this sweater and seemingly dead cat adorned pants, that he didn’t have much pride left.

 “I’m going to guess that these clothes aren’t yours,” Henrik said, looking at his left shoulder and brushed some invisible dust off of it.

“No, no clothes are not mine,” Misha said good-naturedly, a small chuckle accompanying his words, “They are Zhanna’s.”

“Zhanna?” Henrik asked quietly, wondering who this woman in Misha’s life was. 

“Oh, Zhanna.  Yes.  She is my sister,” Misha explained, “She lives here with me now.”

“I’m guessing this Zhanna picked out the clothes?”

“She has a sense of humor.” Misha said, slowing standing back up.

“I can tell,” Henrik said, glancing over at the other blurry man, before focusing on the blob of a sidetable, “She has interesting fashion choices.”

“I was rushing her,” Misha admitted, “She gave the first items that worked.  Needed to get dry clothes for you.”

Henrik stayed silent for a moment, thinking.  Did he really want to know more about how Misha had found him?  Of course, he wanted to know, but did he _want_ to?

That moment of silence stretched out into two.  Henrik tried looking at Misha’s face to see if he could judge anything by the man’s expression.  Of course, with his vision, he couldn’t details like that.  Whether there was a smile or a frown on the man’s face, he couldn’t tell.  

What he could tell that the man still had a face.  Though that fact was a good one, it wasn’t helpful by any means. Henrik needed to get new glasses; that was going to be one of his first priorities.

Misha, thankfully, filled in the awkward gap of silence by asking a question speaking up.

“How is head?”

“It’s feeling a little bit better,” Henrik admitted, “Um, are my clothes dry by any chance?”

“Weren’t when I checked a few minutes ago.  Still were slightly damp, enough to give chills,” Misha said, unable to resist teasing, “Not feeling up to wearing fall fashion by Zhanna?”

“Ah, it’s warm, I’ll give it that.  Not my style.” Henrik replied.

“Would you like to take morning shower while you wait?” Misha asked, “Or breakfast is available, if you’d like to come eat.”

“I’ll take the shower, if you don’t mind,” Henrik said, getting slowly to his feet.

“Okay, good, come with me,” Misha said, taking some steps towards the door, “I will show you where shower is.”

The shower wasn’t far from them.  Stepping out into the hall, it was just a few feet down the hall.  The walls were sparsely decorated with a few framed pictures of what looked like some family photos.  At least they seemed to be as far as Henrik could tell.

Misha opened up the door to the bathroom and motioned for Henrik to go in.  

“Towels are in that cabinet, some shampoo is in the shower, so is soap,” Misha paused, thinking of what else he needed to add, “When you are done, hang towel over shower, that’s fine.  Your clothes will be brought once they are dry.  If you feel dizzy, sit before falling over.  Don’t die. And take your time, don’t feel like you need to rush, we’re fine.  Might knock to make sure you’re not dead if it’s quite, but will leave you alone other than that.”

“Do you worry about people dying in your showers often?”

“Sometimes,” Misha shrugged.

“...Do people die in your shower often?”

“No,” Misha said, “Please don’t be first.”

Admittedly, it was a strange warning to give.  But after how he had found Henrik last night, and the way he had felt this warning, he was concerned for the man.  Henrik was an adult, and he could take care of himself, but it seemed like there were times that he couldn’t, and Misha wanted to make sure this wasn’t one of those times.  

He could only assume that Henrik let loose sometimes.  What had actually happened last night, he didn’t know.  He knew that Henrik was drunk, and that he had found the man in the middle of a busy road.  Other than that, what had transpired was a mystery, and, though he’d take an answer if Henrik offered one, he wasn’t going to press for anything.  

Once the door was shut and locked, Henrik let out a quiet sigh.

The nerves were getting to him.  To put it bluntly, he was nervous.  Painfully nervous.   It was strange for the normally calm man, though all of this situation was.

He had woken up in the house of a man that he barely knew.  Though Henrik didn’t mind getting to know Misha better, the Russian seemed like a fascinating person,  but this was not the best way to do it.  

If Henrik had had his pick, they would have talked more over a lunch, maybe even coffee - they met over coffee so why not bond more over it? - at least over some way that was at least half way planned.  Passing out drunk and getting carted to the man’s home was not an option Henrik would have picked.

The orange sweater was the first item he stripped off, and he messily folded it as he placed it on the white bathroom counter.  The bathroom was nice looking, as far as he could tell anyway.  Navy blue walls and white tiled floors, it was definitely nice, but not flamboyantly nice.  It had a homey feel to it, where the user could feel comfortable and not like they had to worry about breaking anything.

There was a mirror hanging behind the counter, but Henrik didn’t let his focus linger there for long.  He knew what he looked like, and not having glasses wasn’t going to change what he already knew.  

He used to look better, but age and stress had caught up to him.  His hair had started to turn gray, both on his head and chest, and his midsection had gotten thicker.  With his work, he was definitely more tired lately.  There were dark circles under his eyes, and he didn’t have the energy or time to do more about his looks than shower and shave.  He was lucky that his job involved heavy lifting with the bags - it was lucky for his abs and arms anyway, his back sometimes did protest too much - so that he was at least in this much shape, whatever shape it was.  

Could anyone tell that, just by looking at him now, that he used to be a long distance runner? 

He doubted it.

Was it cocky of his to think that he was still a bit handsome, despite aging?  His face was one of the first things that Edith had fallen in love with, his body being the second, and the former hadn’t let her down.  That face was still there, albeit a bit bruised at the moment, so was it wrong for him to hope that someone else might fall because of it?

Maybe it was.  Maybe it actually was.  

He needed to take a shower.  He was in the bathroom, half naked, he might as well fully commit and get to that shower before Misha thought that Henrik _had_ fallen and died in here.  The last thing he needed to do was to scare his gracious host into knocking down the door.

Henrik’s other mental comments were cut off as he took off the rest of his, or rather Zhanna’s, clothing.   The self deprecation of an evaluation stopped here, as much as he could stop it anyway.

The rest of the clothes were left on the floor as Henrik stepped into the shower stall.  He turned the water on, adjusted it until it was at a comfortable level, and then let the water wash over his sore body, taking only a moment to glance at the bandage on his arm before he took a moment to close his eyes and enjoying feeling of the stream.  But only a moment.  

His muscles started to loosen up thanks to the hot stream, but he set to the task of washing up.  Even thought Misha had said to take his time, Henrik was going to get in and then get out as quickly as he could.  Even if that meant using the pink bottle of shampoo that was in the shower, because he couldn’t read the others to figure out what they were, he was going to do it.

Meanwhile, Misha had started to make breakfast in the kitchen, keeping an ear out for any thuds coming from the bathroom.  There was one, but he heard Henrik possibly cursing in German soon after and not screaming in pain, so the Russian felt safe to assume that the other man had just dropped a bottle and that everything was okay and that Henrik was still standing in the shower, upright wet, soaked, naked-

Clothes.  Yes.  Misha needed to go find Henrik’s clothes and make sure they were dry.  He had asked Zhanna to make sure, it had been that or she make breakfast and she had chosen the clothes, and she hadn’t been back yet.  Curious, he ambled down the hall to find her.

She was squatting down in front of the dryer, waiting for machine to stop or beep or tell her that the clothes were dry somehow.  Misha stood behind her a moment, watching, before he spoke.

“You did read tags on clothes, yes?” He asked, startling Zhanna.  She jumped to her feet, wheeling around and getting into a fighting position until she saw it was her older brother.

“Yes...” She replied slowly.

“What did tags say?”

“Words.”

“Good.  Words, yes.  Good, Zhanna, good,” Misha said, pausing, “You can not read much English, can you?”

“No.”

“I forgot.  We need to work on that,” Misha said, his brow furrowing as he continued, “How did you set dryer?”

“Set it to sixty,” She said proudly, placing her hands on her hips, “You told me to make sure clothes were one hundred percent dry, and sixty is closest number to one hundred.”

 It only took a moment for Misha to step over to the dryer, flick it off, and give Zhanna a look.  

“Could have asked for help,” He said, trying to carefully pull the clothes out without burning himself, “Ah, I can help you with items like this, Zhanna.”

“I do not want help, I want to do it on my own,” She replied, “I do not wan tto be treated like baby.”

“I understand, Zhanna, I do,” He said, “But I want to help you learn to do it on own.”

Zhanna frowned slightly, thinking about Misha’s words before she spoke.”

“...I should have asked for help with the dryer,” She admitted slowly.

“It’s alright, little bear cub,” He replied, unfolding Henrik’s shirt, the black pants hanging over his arm, “Let us just hope that Henrik’s clothes survived okay.”

“Are you taking the clothes to him?” Zhanna asked, a small, slow smile blooming on her face.

“Yes.  Clothes are not going to take self,” He replied, folding up the shirt.  It was nice and warm at least, perfect for getting dressed right out of the shower, where the cold could nip at you and bite any warmth you had straight away.

“Hope you enjoy,” She said chipperly, starting to walk away from him.

“What do you-...Where are you going, Zhanna?”

“I will go watch breakfast, you take clothes to your Henrik,” She said, leaving the room before Misha could retort.  

Did she really imply what he thought she did?  That he was going to enjoy taking the clothes to Henrik, who was currently naked in the shower?  How dare she think that lowly of her brother, the one who was working his tail off so that he could have his family living together again, the one who was paying for this house, the one who was making breakfast, the one...

The one who was about to go take clothes to Henrik, who was currently naked in the shower.

He needed to get this done so that he could go continue to make breakfast and not think about Henrik, who was currently naked in the shower.  So that he could _stop_ thinking about Henrik who was...

This was not working.  He needed to think about something else.  His book, he’d think about his book, that might help, reading always helped.

His book that was about a failed romance that happened after one party bared their should to the other. Was it possible for love to grow after one party nearly was bared in front of the other?

That was not helping.  That was really not helping.

He just needed to go and get this over with so that he could go back to doing something, anything else.

Henrik had grabbed a towel and started to dry off, wondering if he was going to have to explain why he smelled like strawberries to Misha and his sister, or if they were just going to understand and not question it.

When he heard a knock at the door, he quickly wrapped the towel around his waist

“Oh, ah, come in,” Henrik responded slowly, hoping that those were his clothes being brought.  He didn’t have anything to get dressed into otherwise.

As the door slowly creaked open, Henrik quickly bent over  and grabbed onto the pants he had dropped on the ground.  Bundling it back up with the sweater, he was ready to give back the clothes he had been loaned, and he was quite ready to get dressed back into his own clothes.

Misha carefully stepped inside, giving Henrik ample time to cover himself, and placed the man’s clothes on the counter, the place where Misha was trying to focus all of his attention.  The only reason he looked towards Henrik was because he was holding out his sister’s clothes, and Misha was glad that he did.

Looking up, he saw the water glistening in Henrik’s upper body, highlighting the taunt musculature of his body, from the broad shoulders down to his tapered, soft waist.  

That was all that Misha was able to take in, in just a few seconds, because the towel around Henrik’s waist started to slip, having been loosened by the man fetching the clothes off of the floor.  Henrik caught the front of it before it fell all of the way, but only enough so that he private parts were covered, making him look like a Grecian statue that had been caught by surprise. 

Before Henrik could pull the towel back up over his the exposed part of his pelvis, Misha dropped Henrik’s clothes onto the counter, snatched Zhana’s out of Henrik’s hand, and then left, quickly closing the door behind him.  

The Russian was rushing away from the bathroom, heading back down to the kitchen so that he could make sure breakfast was done.  Yep, making sure breakfast was done, that was shy he was going to the kitchen with a slightly red, warm face, that was it.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with the towel slipping, or seeing the wonderful body that Henrik was hiding under his clothes.  Nothing at all.

When Misha made it to the kitchen, he took over the blini making, sending  Zhanna away.  Not that the girl minded. She grabbed a syrniki off of a plate and swiped a dollop of jam before Misha could shoo her farther away.

“Have a nice time?” She asked, speaking between bites of the dumpling.

“Why do you ask?”

“Brother’s face is red as a communist,” She teased.

“Zhanna, go sit at table,” He said, placing the sweater and pants on the counter, “Or better, go put clothes away,”

“Only for you, Misha,” She said as she picked up the clothes, “Only for you and your Henrik.”

Misha twitched at her words, ripping the pancake he was in the middle of flipping, but Zhanna sashayed out of the room before he could scold her.  

Lucky for the large Russian, he had a few minutes of relaxation while he finished making breakfast, with Zhanna back in the room but sitting quietly at the table, before he heard Henrik coming down the hall.  Was it because of the towel drop that Henrik had taken so long to come out here?

Yes and no.

Henrik had stood in the bathroom awkwardly, towel still being held in front of him for a moment or two before he started to get dressed.  That part was what had taken him the longest.

While putting on his clothes, he could swear that they felt tighter.  It made no sense.  How could his clothes be tighter after just one night?  Maybe it was just in his imagination.  It wasn’t as if he couldn’t put the clothes on, it just felt like the shirt was pressing more against him, and the pants felt like the were wrapped tighter around his lower half.

Even if it was that they had gotten tighter, it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it.  It was either that he wear his clothes, or he put Zhanna’s back on.  With those as his options, he’d pick his any day.

After cleaning up the bathroom, he followed his nose down the hall to the kitchen, the scent of something delicious in the air.  

Somehow, his appetite had started to come back, though just barely.  Despite everything, he was hungry.  That was a good sign actually, considering how ill he had felt this morning.

It was quiet as he walked into the kitchen, as he was unsure what to say.  Was he supposed to say anything?  Did he need to make his presence known, or could he just go sit down at the table and wait to be acknowledged?

He opted for the latter, and he nodded a hello to the blurry girl sitting at the table.

“Zhanna?” He asked quietly.

“Yes,” She said with a smile, her accent as thick as her brothers, “You are Henrik, yes?”

“Yes,” Hen confirmed, “Thank you for the clothes.”  

“It is zero problem.  I bet you wear the clothes well,” She said, “I have seen you...”

Misha knew the moment that Henrik had stepped into the room, but he didn’t feel like embarrassing the man further.  Did Henrik even want to speak to him right now?  Misha couldn’t be sure.

So, instead, the Russian stayed by the range as the last blini finished cooking, and he took his time getting the plates and jam in order, listening quietly as Henrik and his sister spoke together.  The plates clinked unceremoniously together when he heard Zhanna finish her thought.

“You were man at the back of coffee shop!” She said, loudly hitting the table in triumph, “You were in back room, yes?”

“Ah, yes.  Probably.  Most likely,” Henrik replied, taking a moment to look over the woman with a squint, “You’re the lady that got engaged to my barista, aren’t you?  How is that going, by zhe way?” 

“Oh, wonderful!” She said with a happy sigh, “We went out last night and he spent the night here.  Zhanna loves him so much, he is coffee man of my heart.  Zhanna Orlova cannot wait to be Zhanna Doe!”

“From what I know he seems fairly excited about it too,” Henrik said with a small smile, amused by her enthusiasm, “I haven’t seen Jane that happy in a while.”

This time Misha almost dropped a plate.  The moron that Zhanna was romancing, or who was romancing Zhanna, it was hard to tell, was named Jane?  Was Misha hearing things right?

“His name is Jane?” He asked, because he had to be sure, he needed someone to tell him for sure if he was understanding this correctly.

“Yes,” Zhanna said, turning in her chair to give him a look, “His name is Jane.  Did Zhanna never tell you that?”

“No, Zhanna did not,” Misha said a very small feeling of relief washing over him, “Jane works for you, Henrik?”

“ _Ja.”_

 _“_ And he is a man?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“He _just_ works for you?”

“Yes...” Henrik paused, “He works zhe morning shift at the shop.  From opening to zhe afternoon.”

“And you were there in morning?” Misha asked, wondering about something else now.

“Yes.”

“Why?  You are night manager, are you not?”

“I work mornings too, since zhe last manager quit,” He said, “I’ve only been doing it for a few weeks.”

“From morning to closing?” Zhanna said, “You poor thing.  Do you have anyone at home?”

“Yes,” He said, causing both Zhanna and Misha to pause, “My birds.  I have three of them.”

“What kind of birds do you possess?”

“Doves.”

“Little white birds, yes?”

“Yes.  Little white birds,” Henrik looked towards the stove, where Misha was still standing “Misha, do you need any help?”

“No, will be just a minute,” The Russian replied, satisfied that he had overly cleaned the warm pan as much as possible, “Jam is on table, Zhanna?”

“Yes, is here,” She said, turning back to Henrik and quietly asked, “He lets you call him Misha?”

“Yes, um, Mik-...Mikhail?” Henrik paused, trying to remember the man’s actual name, “Mmm-, he... He does.  Is that strange?”

“He only lets family call him Misha, or very close friends, it is not a name he lets out often,” she whispered, “You know, you must be very special to him...I know you are.”

Before Henrik could ask for an explanation of some sort, Misha arrived, carrying two large, full plates to the table.

“Made, ah, Russian pancakes and...what is word?”

“Word for what?” Zhanna asked.

“For the syrniki.”

“Can just use syrniki.”

“For explanation.  In English.”

“Ah.  In English.  Is...dropping?”

“Dropping?” Misha asked with a small frown, “Ah, dumpling, yes.  Good, Zhanna.”

“So it’s a dumpling?” Henrik asked.

“Yes,” Misha replied as he pulled out a chair, seating himself at the head of the table, “Blini is like American pancake, syrniki is like dumpling.”

“Both are good with jam,” Zhanna added.

“Have as much as you want,” MIsha said, already adding so a small stack of the blini to his plate, making sure Henrik understood how easy it was to get them.  There was no special technique to picking up the blini with you fork, other than to not drop them.

Considering how that _towel_ had slipped earlier, Henrik best use some sort of caution while picking up the food.

Shaking that thought from his head, or at least trying to, Misha took a second to look Henrik over.  His shirt was clinging tight to his torso, so it seemed like it had actually shrunk a bit in the dryer.  

Or else Misha’s eyes were playing tricks on him and he was just imaging it.  The buttons hadn’t seemed that quite that tight before, pulling quite that much across his broad chest, so maybe it they were, maybe.

Henrik’s eyes were closed in a half squint, a gentle one that served to give his face a model-esque look instead of distorting it, making him look inquisitive and curious, even though he was giving the jar a jam a once-over.

His hair was still damp, having only been toweled off after the shower, and that curl - that damn curl - was hanging in front of his forehead, just begging to be brushed aside.

Staring was rude.  Misha needed to stop.  It was hard, though.  He had never seen Henrik out from behind the counter, and then all of a sudden, here the man was, sitting at his table, eating breakfast with him and his sister.  It was surreal, but in a good, nice way.  

A good, nice way that was going to end far too soon.  A good, nice way that was giving him a taste of what life would be like if he dared tried to cross the line of friendship that they had.  That wasn’t a line that Misha felt ready to cross, because once he took that step, there was no going back.

There was one day he’d be ready to cross the Rubicon, but not yet.  Not until things felt more normal again, though that raised a question of its own; what was normal?

Normal was getting coffee and speaking for only a few minutes.  Normal was seeing each other for a few minutes a day.  Normal was being his favorite customer.

Maybe he didn’t want things to go back to normal after all.  Maybe today was the day he dared ask if Henrik even felt close to the same way he felt.  

Maybe today was the day he asked the question.

Looking over at Henrik, who was savoring his delicious meal, Misha swallowed once before speaking.

“...Henrik,” He said, getting the man’s attention, “Would you pass jam?”

“Certainly,” Henrik said with a small smile, placing the bottle over Misha’s way.

This was not the time to chicken out.  This was the time to ask the question.  It was a simple question “would you like to go out for lunch?”, so why couldn’t he ask it?  Ask, ask, ask.  He needed to say it.  This chance was getting away from his faster than a hat blown loose in a snowstorm, he needed to _ask._

 _“_ Do you ned ride back to shop?”

“Actually, that would be wonderful, Misha, thank you.”

Ask if he’s interested, Misha, ask him if he cares.  Ask if you even have a _chance_.

 _“..._ Need a drink?” He said, hand angrily digging into his thigh under the table, where it was out of sight, “Water helps with hangover.”

“Actually, yes,” Henrik replied, slowly standing up, “I’ll get it.”

As Henrik stood up and walked the few feet into the kitchen, Zhanna shot her brother a look.

 _“«What are you waiting for?»”_ She asked in a harsh whisper,  “ _«You will not get another chance as good as this.»_ “

 _“«I do not know what you are talking about »”_ Misha answered in an equal harsh whisper.

 _“«To tell him!»”_ She said in an exasperation, “ _«To tell him anything!  To say something!»”_

 _“ «Tell him what? » “_ Misha frowned when he noticed that Zhanna was doing the same,  _“ «Why are you being so pushy? » ”_

 _“ «I am sorry I do not want my brother’s first love to end in misery and silence»_ _”_

 _“ « Love? »”_ He scoffed, _“ «  What makes you think- »“_

_“«It is obvious, Misha.  I can tell from the way you talk about him, from the way you look at him, from the way you took care of him.  You love him, Misha.  And if you do not do something, I will. » “_

_“ «Do not dare to. » ”  
_

_“ «If you do not do something, I will dare. » “  
_

Henrik, meanwhile, was searching through different cabinets for a glass.  He was on to his fifth cabinet, and he had just found bowls and plates.  He must be getting close to the glasses.

Oh, he could hear the conversation taking place, but he couldn’t understand it.  From the sounds of things, Zhanna seemed angry that he was here, or at least that’s what he understood from her tone and whisperings.  He couldn’t blame her.  If some strange person was brought into his apartment and ended up crashing in his place, unplanned, he would be annoyed too.

Of course, the only other occupant who could bring someone into his apartment were his birds, so the chances of that happening were unlikely.  Not impossible, but highly unlikely.

As it seemed his search for a glass was.  There were only so many cabinets in here, so had to find them soon.  People in Russia used glasses, didn’t they?

Misha, who was exasperated by his sister, scooted back from the table and moved over to the kitchen to help Henrik out.  He moved towards the cabinent at the German stepped in front of him, and they bumped lightly against each other as they both reached for a glass at the same time.  For a moment, they were so close that Misha could smell the scent of strawberries on the man.  But only for a moment, as they separated quickly. 

“Apologies,” Misha said, stepping back quickly.

“No, you’re fine,” Henrik said, turning so that his back was against the counter, “I stepped in front of you, it’s my fault.”

“I should have let you know I was coming up behind.” Misha said, glancing over at Zhanna who had a look of intense concentration on her face, almost as if she was trying to will one of the men to make a move.

“I cut you off.”

“I am sorry.”

“You were just trying to help.  There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Henrik said, small smile on his face, “I appreciate it.”

That smile.  Misha knew that smile.  It wasn’t a happy smile, it was Henrik’s barista smile.  He had seen both of those smiles on Henrik’s face, so he knew how to tell them apart.  His eyes didn’t have those soft crinkles at the corners, his mouth was more closed than open, he looked tenser thank normal.  That wasn’t the smile Misha got when he came in, that was the smile Henrik gave the other customers, the pushy ones, the troublemakers, the ones that annoyed him.  That was the smile he was giving Misha now, and it nearly broke the Russian’s heart.

“I will get you drink.  Go sit down, Henrik, I will get it,” Misha said, offering Henrik a quick out.  It was one that the German took, and he handed the glass to Misha with a small word of thanks as he headed back to the table and took his seat.  

The rest of the meal passed in mostly silence.  An occasional, clipped conversation was had, with Misha cutting off Zhanna every time she tried to speak, but other than that, it grew quiet, uncomfortably so.  

Henrik joined Zhanna as they washed dishes, with Misha leaving for a few minutes to get ready to go.  He had to drive Henrik back to either his shop or his apartment and, though he loved the man, he wasn’t sure this drive was one that he was looking forward to.  Not if Henrik was as uncomfortable as Misha thought he was.

After the mess was cleaned, and Henrik had his phone back, they went out to his car.  Misha sat in the driver’s seat, and Henrik in the passenger’s.  While Misha was getting the car started, and getting buckled in, he looked over the house.  It was quaint, though it seemed slightly larger on the inside than what the outside would lead you to believe.  The wood of the house was painted white, and the shutters a deep green.

Henrik took a moment to look the place over, because he was fairly certain that he was never going to see it again.

The drive was quiet, the same as breakfast had been, until Misha spoke up.

“To shop or to apartment?”

“Ah, to my apartment, if you don’t mind,” Henrik replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “It’s on 7th and Gunner."

“Know where that is,” Misha responded, glancing over at Henrik as they waited at a stop sign.  He noticed that the other man was struggling to read his phone screen, probably trying to figure out who all of the missed calls were for, and so he reached into the middle tray.  Picking up his reading glasses, he held them over towards Henrik.

“Probably not your prescription, but maybe help.” He said.

Henrik looked at the black glasses, and then tried them on.  The square framed spectacles helped a little bit, but not much.  They were better than nothing.

“Ah, Conagher,” Henrik said, looking over the names on his phone, “He called about six times last night, probably worried about me disappearing last night.  Tavish called twice. Ash once.  Zhe rest are Jane.”

“You sound like popular man,” Misha said, turning around at the corner, “How did you disappear from Conagher?”

If Henrik answered that, then maybe Misha would start to get some answers about how he had found Henrik last night.  Unfortunately, Henrik had other ideas.

“Doesn’t matter,” Henrik replied, preferring not to go into detail, “His concern is touching.  I should call him later.”

“Why not now?”

“Do you mind?”

“No.” Misha said.  Maybe an answer would come this way, while eavesdropping on Henrik’s conversation.

The man made the call, but the half of the conversation Misha could hear wasn’t much.

“Dell?  Yes, it’s Henrik.  No, I’m fine.  I-...D-...Le-...I know.  I’m fine.  Don’t worry...Yes, it was him...No, I’m fine...Dell, I’m fine, I promise...A friend picked me up.  Yes, I have friends.  How’s Tavish?  Is he alright-?  Talk more later?  Alright, certainly, tonight.  Catch me up about him tonight.  You talked to Ash?  Yes, I promise, I’m fine.  I’m going work soon, so we can talk after.  I’ll be working with Ash soon.  Yes, it’s going to be a short day today; I’m not making Ash stay later than normal, so we’ll be cleaned up by seven or so at zhe latest.  Thank you, Dell, goodbye.”

By the time he hung up, they were already on his road, and he just managed to point out his building before it was too late to turn.

“Thank you,” Henrik said as he exited, but Misha shook his head.

“Will be driving you to work.  You can’t take broken car, and it is cold.  Will be driving.”

“...If you’re sure,” Henrik said slowly, “I’l be just a moment.  I need my uniform.”

The man walked into the building, and then raced up the stairs.  Opening the door, he checked on his birds, Scout had taken good care of them, before grabbing his bag and stripping quickly down into his uniform.  With the shoulder bag on him, he raced back down the stairs, taking less than five minutes to get ready and get back in the car.

“Do you not have other glasses?” Misha asked, slowly pulling out of the parking lot as Henrik buckled himself in.

“I was wearing my other pair.  My first ones broke a while ago and I forgot to replace them.  I should do that.”

“Is weekend, so good luck.” 

“I know, I know.”

After that scolding, Henrik grew quiet.  He hadn’t meant to break the first pair, which had been broken by Archimedes by accident, and he hadn’t meant to break the second.  Neither ones his fault.  That didn’t excuse him not replacing them, though.

“Keep glasses,” Misha said as they pulled into the coffee shop’s lot, “They help you, yes?”

“I can’t keep them.”

“Yes, you can,” Misha said, “I will come to get them...Tomorrow night.  Sunday after work.  Sound good?”

“If you’re sure, that sounds good.” Henrik said as he started to step out of the car.

“I am sure” Misha said, “Have a good, safe day, Henrik.”

“Thank you, Misha.  You too.”

After he swung the door shut, Henrik started walking towards the shop, just catching Scout who had been packed up and ready to go.

“Yo, have a great day, Hen!” The boy said as he raced past, intent on making it to his date as soon as he could, waiting as Misha drove by before he ran across the road.

“You too, Scout,” Henrik called, watching the boy race around the corner.

Jane offered Henrik a morning salute, but the man was also packed up and ready to go.  He hesitated, looking as if he was ready to stick around and work more, but Ash showed up at 3 on the dot.  Satisfied that his replacement was present, Jane left with a loud “I am leaving the shop now!”

“Hi,” Ash said, placing their backpack down behind the counter, “You alright, Henrik?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look a little red in the face, sir.”

Though his face did indeed feel warm, Henrik declined to comment on that statement.

“We’re closing today,” He told Ash, “Scout did the morning shift, so it’s you and me for closing.  We start cleaning up at six thirty, and we’re out by seven.  Understood?”

“Yep, I got’cha.” Ash said, pausing, “You didn’t work the morning shift?”

“Not today.  Circumstances prevented it,” Henrik said, looking over the records Scout had been marking down.  The boy had done a good job of managing; his work was good, though still rough around the edges, essentially who Scout was.

He had been debating promoting Scout to manager for a few weeks now.  It seemed like the boy could handle that role just fine, if he wanted to accept it.

The workday was fairly quiet for Ash and Henrik.  In fact, it almost seemed to pass by in a blur, and they were packing up to go sooner than Henrik would have imagined.  Today had passed so quickly and so slowly at the same time, it was strange.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Ash asked, “Now you look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Henrik insisted, “I’m just tired.  It’s been a long couple of days.”

“I can imagine that,” Ash said, “You’ve been taking the morning, noon, evening, and night shifts.  You’re like the Superman of the coffee world, Henrik sir.”

He laughed.  Ash was amusing.

“Whatever I am, it’s time to go home,” He said, picking up his bag and standing up with a slight sway, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ash.  Shifts should be back to normal.”

“Did Scout do a good job today?”

“Yes.  A very good one.”

Ash smiled, their face beaming.

“Oh good, I’m so glad,” They said, “He seems like he’d be a good manager, with a little work.”

“How do you know?”

“I dropped by early.  He was working pretty well with Jane...They butted heads a few times, both figuratively and literally, but they always managed to find a way to make it work.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, usually Scout said something like “Hen put me in charge.  Just work with me for him, Jan.” Ash said, “Have they worked together before?”

“Not really,” Henrik said, fascinated by Ash’s words, “They’ve only met in passing for the most part...Did they really work well together?”

“Yup.”

“And it was all fine?”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure?”

“From what I saw, yup,” Ash said, “You’re good at picking your workers, Henrik sir, they’re all so nice.  See you tomorrow, Henrik!”

They left, and Henrik locked up the building, starting the cold walk home.  The moment that he stepped back into his apartment didn’t come soon enough.  When that door was shut tight behind him, and he didn’t have anywhere else to be today, he felt safe enough to drop his guard.

He had been so nervous since being in Misha’s kitchen; he had been nervous the whole time, but that one moment, the one where they bumped against each other, that had been the one that made his heart pound in his chest.

He leaned back against the door, his hand balled into a fist, clenching his shirt.  Sliding down to the floor, he breathed heavily, growing dizzier and dizzier.

No, no, no, no,  _no._ He didn’t like this, no one bit.  It hurt, he felt warm, his breathing was short, his chest felt tight, it felt like he was dying.  Just thinking about today made him feel like he was sick.  He was shaking and his stomach was twisted up into knots, as he realized what was going on, he grew filled with despair.

It was stinging, he felt it.  How could he miss it?  It felt like he had been sucker punched.  He was ill, afflicted, fevered, and he knew with what.  He had felt it before.  He knew what was causing it, and he knew who was too, that beautiful, huge Russian.

He was in love.  Henrik was falling back into love with someone for the first time in years.

How absolutely, and terribly, terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shoutout to all of you all that have been so patient with me as I deal with school. In the next couple of weeks, another chapter should come out sooner than this one did.
> 
> I feel like I owe you guys something extra, so here are some fun facts about the fic: 
> 
> Edith's name was originally going to be Hedwig, but with Henrik, I figured that was too many H's and would be confusing. The name Edith had a fairly close meaning to what I was after, so it was picked instead.
> 
> I listened to Taylor Swift's Wildest Dreams over 100 times over the last three days while writing this chapter. I have to find a song that gets me writing, and apparently that was the song for this chapter [though it was not the inspiration song that held ideas for the chapter, they're different to me]. Help me.
> 
> This chapter is around 12k words, which is the longest thing I've ever written for either a fic or just a chapter.
> 
> I was totally trying to appeal to the fangirls with this chapter. Actually, all the mishaps were planned, especially the towel scene, but I figured they'd be liked.
> 
> If you guys like these facts, then I'd totally love to share more eventually, as long as they're not spoilery.
> 
> Also, again, I will be editing this later. I just wrote most of this in the last three days, and I don't want to look at it anymore right now. I hope you understand.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!


	7. The More Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen.
> 
> I'm very tired right now, so 'll update this box later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic can be found here on Tumblr too: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/135647815772/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-7  
> Likes and reblogs are appreciated, but by no means required. =)
> 
> This is fairly unedited. Some edited. Little edited. Leetle baby edited.
> 
> My point is that I will be going back and editing more later. For now, you can read the fic in its rough, less than perfectly polished glory.

As Henrik sat on the floor of his apartment, hand tightly clutching his shirt, his breathing only started to slow down to a reasonable pace.  

He had been panting, working on trying to calm down, as the thoughts raced through his mind.  The feeling had sucker-punched him, and he still felt tensely ill as he realized what was going on.  It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that he was starting to feel sick.

So why was it that, as the minutes ticked by, he felt more comfortable with the idea of being infected with something like this?

It wasn’t ideal, no. It wasn’t anything close to ideal for him.  He clung to routine. 

Despite how much he teased Jane for doing the same, Henrik thrived with routine.  He didn’t love the idea of anything happening without at least a week’s, or even day’s, notice ahead of time.

This sensation barreling in from nowhere was not welcome nor was it appreciated.  

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t slowly learn to accept it.  

Gingerly, Henrik pushed himself up from the floor.  As he stood, he took a slow look around his apartment.

The birds were in their cage, the table was still a mess of papers, his laundry, four shirts and two pants among other items, still needed to be put away, his violin still sat in its dusty case up on a shelf, his books were still the disorganized mess of his style of organization as always, there were still five dishes that needed to be washed and put away.  Everything was exactly the same, exactly where he left it.

He had been fearing for far too long that if he ever fell in love again, everything would change.  It had seemed to with Edith, that relationship a whirlwind romance with him trying to match her whims and ideals, so there he hadn’t had time to find the routine that he craved and desired.  

Here, that routine was still in place, as comfortable and homey as always.  It was a stupid idea, at least he started to think it was.  It was moronic to think that falling in love would start to tear everything he had built up away.

As if love would actually do the dishes for him.  It was hardly that convenient. Love was more an inconvenience than anything.  

But considering how long he had been trying to avoid it, he was surprised that he felt comfortable with boiling this complex web of emotions, something he had been dreading and shying away from to just that: an inconvenience. 

It was amazingly freeing to think of it like that too.  Why hadn’t he ever bother to think of it that way before?

Good God, he was a fool.

But was he a fool more for falling in love or for fearing it?

Right now, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Instead of pondering life and love more, because he was already exhausted by even trying to contemplate them at all, he instead set his mind to calling Dell.  He owed Dell a call, and he needed to get it done.  The poor Texan had probably been worried sick about Henrik’s disappearance from the bar, and Henrik should let Dell know that he was alright.

Though talking to Dell was risky, especially now.  The man had a way of making you pour your heart out before you even realized what was coming out of your mouth.  It could be because of the alcohol that was there at the bar, but there was just something about him that made you feel safe, a feeling that you could bare your soul to him and never be judged for it.  More often than not, you never were.

Hopefully, whatever it was that Dell did to coax words out of people, it wouldn’t translate as well over the phone.  The last thing Henrik needed was to go diving into the details of the last twenty-four or so hours.  They weren’t dirty details, mind you, they were just things that didn’t necessarily need to be brought up.

Henrik hesitated before he placed the call, taking his time in removing his apron and cap, hanging up his bag.  He fished his phone out of the bag, but checked on his birds before he hit call, taking a minute or two to sweet-talk to them, gently stroking them, alternating between the birds so they all felt loved equally.

Archimedes flew out and climbed onto Henrik’s shoulder, while the other two weren’t nearly as bold around this new man.  They chose to slowly edge out of the cage together, while Archimedes let a gentle coo while perched on her owner.

 _“_ Ah, how’s my darling girl been, Archimedes?” Henrik asked, smiling slightly as Archimedes nuzzled against his face.  He returned the affection, nuzzling her gently back.

Archimedes had missed her papa _._  Her papa hadn’t come back last night, only the nice smaller man had, and she had missed him and she wanted all of the attention that he was willing to give her.  

So when Henrik paused to look down at the phone in his hand, Archimedes gave him a gentle nibble on the ear, to remind him that she was on his shoulder and pettings were very nice to be given yes please.

“I should call Conagher now, you’re right,” Henrik said, reaching up to gently stroke Archimedes head, “Zhere’s no point in delaying any longer.”

Archimedes cooed, not really caring really what Henrik was saying.  She was getting pet again after all.

There was a very long minute when they only sound on the other end of the line was the ringing of a phone.  It was fairly late, and Henrik was calling the bar, maybe Conagher had gone home.  If that was the case, then Henrik might be be able to get out of this conversation.  He had _tried_ to call after all, Conagher couldn’t say that he hadn’t.

Then the phone was picked up and the Texan answered.

Dell lived above the bar.  His home _was_ the bar, Henrik had forgotten. Of course the man was there this late, ready to answer the phone, it was his home.   _Verdammt_

 “It’s Henrik, Dell,” He said, forgoing a traditional greeting.  In this situation, none was needed.  

“Henrik, what happened last night?” Dell asked, “You pulled a damn Houdini, up and vanished from the bar..."  

Conagher seemed to be forgoing some steps here in this conversation as well.

“...Left?” Henrik asked dumbly.  Last night was a strange blur, he had to really think about it.

“Yes sir.  One minute you were there, next you were gone.  Mind telling anything ‘bout it?” Dell asked, “I’m not trying to pry into your personal life here, Doc, I just want to make sure that you were okay.”

“...Okay?”  

Of course he had been okay, he had been with Misha...

Had Misha gone to the bar?  Wair.  No.  Then how-...?

“How much did I have to drink, Dell?” Henrik asked.

“Not that much, to be honest.  Couple mimosa’s, glass of wine or two, that’s it,” Dell replied.

“Zhat’s it?”

“Far as I know anyway,” Dell said, “...Why are you asking?  Blanking on last night?”

“A little bit, _ja_ ,” Henrik said, “Zhat’s not much alcohol.  Not enough to-”

“I know, Henrik, and I know you.  That ain’t enough alcohol to knock you down like that,” Dell said, “Want me to go over last night with ya’?”

“Sure, why not?” Henrik said, reaching up to pet Archimedes, who was currently pulling at his hair.

“You, Tavish, and Jane arrived.”

“Yes.”

“Jane left.”

“Okay.”

“Your ex showed up.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“You and Tavish had a small tiff.”

“Oh, zhat’s right,” Henrik said, “How’s he doing?”

“We’ll get there.  Then you came over to the bar.”

“ _Ja._ ”

“You and me talked about stuff.”

“I remember zhat.” Henrik said, sitting down on his couch.

“Tyrus started harassing you...” Dell paused, seemingly suspicious of the answer, “And I sent him away.  We ringing any bells, Henrik?”

Henrik’s reply was silence, the memories of last night that he had blocked out finally making their way to the surface.

“Yes.” He finally said, numbly petting his bird.

“Care to tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Henrik.  You up and vanished from the bar. I called you a hundred times last night-”

“Actually, I think it was six-”

“-So talk to me.  Just tell me that you were okay and nothing happened, alright?”

“Why vould you worry about that?”

“Because Tyrus was gone too, alright?” Dell said, “I trust you, Henrik, but I do not trust that man.  I’ve been worried sick about you for the last twenty-four hours and I deserve to know if you were alright or not.”

“I’m fine, Dell.”

“You promise?” The man asked, “You weren’t hurt none?”

“My glasses were broken last night, and I got a small cut on my arm, but zhat’s it.”

“Your glasses broke?  Thought your vision was pretty bad without ‘em.  You got another pair?”

“No.  A, ahm, friend lent me their glasses until I can get a new set.”

“A friend, huh?” Dell asked.

“Does that tone mean you’re doubting me or the existence of mein friend?”

“Neither...Ah, as long as you’re set.  How’d they get broken?” Dell asked, “The glasses, I mean.”

“Fell.”

“Fell how?”

“Fell getting out of the car.”

“What car?”

“Tyrus’ car.”

“Why were you in his car?”

“...I don’t remember.” Henrik replied.  His mouth felt dry.  Everything about that night was a fast blur.

“Ah.” Dell said, “You got out, though.  Everything turned out okay, right?”

“ _Ja.”_

“Then there ain’t nothing to worry about anymore, Henrik.” Dell said, “I...I did the call the cops.  Said that there wasn’t anything they could do until seventy-two hours had passed.  Got a call earlier from a Pauling, lady I talked to, letting me know that you were okay.  Just wanted to hear you say it for yourself.”

“I understand, Dell.  Last night was...Nnnh,”

“Didn’t mean to come off as stern at all.  Don’t blame you for any of this.  Not at all.  Blame myself, really,” Dell said, “Let you know now that Tyrus and his gang ain’t allowed in the bar anymore.  If his gang punching holes in the wall wasn’t enough, his spiriting you away seals it.”

“They punched a hole in the wall?”

“Five holes, if ya’ care to be exact.” Dell sighed, “I shoulda’ kicked them out long ago.  Shoulda’ hired another person long ago.  Didn’t want to let them loose on someone else, and didn’t want ta’ make anyone else put up with their shit.  Figured keeping them here myself was safer for others.  Was wrong about that, goddammit.”

“You want to hire someone else to run your bar?”

“To bartend maybe.  Some of the fellas want me to hire a beautiful blonde,” He sighed, “Really don’t want to be stickin’ a lady back behind there.  I need someone who can take it.  Not sure about hirin’ anyone yet, though.”

“You’re a good man, Dell.  You’re far more patient and concerned about others than I could ever be,” Henrik said soothingly, “How’s Tavish been?”

“Bad.” There was the sound of old leather creaking as Dell shifted in his seat, “Dad died last night, sounded like it was sooner than they expected.  Went over to DeGroot’s place earlier today.”

“Oh?  How was it?”

“Bad.” Dell said again, “Mom’s grieving, Tav’s grieving.  Took ‘em a couple meals so they didn’t have to worry about that.  Check on ‘em later.  Give ‘em a couple days to work through things.”

“Ah.” was all Henrik could say.

“You and Tavish should talk later, work things out,” Dell said, “Not now, though.  Later.  When things cool down.  Y’alls emotions are probably too heated now to talk things out without fighting again.”

“I agree,” Henrik said, “Though I may not be as ‘heated’ about Edith anymore as I was.”

“Things change that much overnight?” Dell said in surprise, “...Got anything to do with that friend of yours?” 

“Why would you think that?” Henrik asked far too quickly.

“No reason,” Dell replied, a smile surely on his face, “Who-?...Aw, heck, whatever’s goin’ on, Henrik, I’m glad you’re okay.  I really am.”

“Thank you, Dell,” Henrik said, stifling a yawn, “I appreciate your concern.”

“I’ll let you go now.  Thanks for callin’ me tonight, Hen, but I’m sure you’re tired,” Dell said, “Feel free to drop by the bar again anytime.  There won’t be any old folk motorcycle gangs, at least not a specific one, hanging around there anymore...Have a good night, Doc.”

“You too.” Henrik said, the conversation ending with a click and a wonderful bout of calm and silence.  There _was_ calm, at least until Archimedes tugged at Henrik’s hair again and cooed into his ear.

She was still here and his petting had stopped long ago.  This just would not do!

Henrik did his best to appease the demanding bird, but soon his exhaustion started to overtake him.  Archimedees thankfully seemed to realize that her papa was tired, and quieted down as she nuzzled against his face one last time,  If he was going to go to bed, then she was going to wish him the bestest of sleeps before he put her back up.

Slower than he would have liked, Henrik got ready for bed.  His arm had a tinge of pain as he brushed his teeth.  It felt like it was bruising, and a quick change of the bandages there confirmed that fact.  Cut and bruising, what a lovely combination.

He’d worry about it, and everything else, tomorrow.  Exhaustion had claimed him for the night, and it was all he could do to struggle into bed before he passed out.  Today had been a long day, as had been the day before, and he needed the rest.

Hopefully tomorrow would provide a breather of some sorts.

It didn’t in the morning, not when the day first started.  His alarm didn’t wake him up at first, instead the sound somehow being incorporated into his dreamworld coffee shop work day.  He woke up fifteen minutes later than he meant to, cursing the fact that he even worked in his dreams, before he rushed to get ready for work.  

Maybe Dell was right.  Henrik could be a bit of a workaholic.

A quick breakfast, a quick check on the birds, a quick phone call to get an appointment to get his glasses replaced, and quick grabbing everything had him out on the door on time.  He wondered what it was like to enjoy mornings.  He used to know.

It was cold out.  There were flurries in the air, though they melted as they hit the ground.  It made for a wet walk to the shop, but not a difficult one.  Henrik arrived before Jane somehow, though the other man arrived only a few minutes later.

“Hello!” Jane greeted, shaking off as he stepped inside.

“Hello, Jane,”  Henrik greeted, “Are you ready for the day?”

“That I am!”

“ _Gut,”_ Henrik looked slowly over at Jane, “Have, ah, you talked to Tavish any lately?”

“Not since the bar,” Jane admitted, “I should really go talk to him again soon.  I miss talking to him.”

“Jane, it’s been a day and a half.”

“A day and a half too long to go without communication,” Jane said, “I can’t keep him busy if I’m not there.”

“Busy from what exactly?” Henrik asked slowly.

“His father and the dying thing,” Jane said with a frown, “It’s too bad they don’t make pills where you die and come back stronger.”

“It is a shame zhey don’t,” Henrik said, watching Jane carefully, “I, ah, talked with Dell last night.”

“He’s a good American to talk to.  Needs to get some rocks in one day, but a good American,” Jane said, “What did you talk about?”

“We talked about Tavish-”

“A great subject to talk about!”

“-And his father.  He died.”

“...Tavish died?” Jane asked, a look of panic crossing his face.

“No, his father did.” 

“Oh good.”

“...Vhat?  Not good.“

“Not good?”

“Better than Tavish dying, yes, but still not good.”

“Agreed, especially about the Tavish not-dying part.” Jane replied sincerely.

“Right, um, yes.  My point is zhat Tavish’s father died,” Henrik told Jane, “So, it’s probably for the best zhat you leave him alone for a few days.”

“Leave him alone?  Now?” Jane asked, “Now’s the time that he needs someone, isn’t it?”

“Nmmm.  Ah...,” Henrik paused, “Maybe.  But I have the feeling that he needs someone who’s less...overzealous.”

“Meaning?”

“Less...You.” Henrik finally admitted, gesturing vaguely in Jane’s direction, “You’re not-...Give him a few days before you drop by.”

“I...If you insist,” Jane said hesitantly, “I understand what you’re saying, sir, but I’m not sure you’re aware of little you know about Tavish.”

Henrik felt the barb in Jane’s words, but he wisely remained silent.  And whether or not Jane truly understood, he appeared tense calm Or sad.  Perhaps he was sad thanks to hearing about Tavish’s father passing.  

That must be it.

The morning shift passed quickly thanks to the busy flow of customers passing through, and the afternoon shift arrived sooner than expected.  As steady as the stream had been so far, they had bound to be some turbulence.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t a customer who started causing further problems between the two men.

It was Jane.

It all started with a simple question

“I forgot to ask how your date was, Henrik.”

That question made Henrik pause in the middle of wiping the counter.

“My date?”

“Yes, sir!” Jane said enthusiastically, “I saw Zhanna’s older brother carry you to his home the other day.”

“...You did?” Henrik asked, his eye twitching as he tensed up.

“I did.  He carried you inside and then Zhanna and I had the sex,” He said proudly, “I imagine that you did the same.”

“You imagine wrong,” Henrik told him, his voice growing hostile, “In fact, how dare you even assume anything about my love life?  Just because I’m not loudly announcing everything I do doesn’t mean that you need to pry.”

“I am sensing that you are insulting me,” Jane growled, “First you tell me that I shouldn’t go help my friend, now you’re attacking who I am.”

“It’s easier than you might think.”

“You better watch what you’re saying, Henrik, “ Jane warned, fire in his eyes.

“You need to shut up and be quiet,” Henrik said quickly, “Drop it, Jane.”

“For you, Henrik, I will,” Jane said, “I still have thirty minutes on my shift.”

“Go ahead and leave.  You’ll get your pay this time, but I think you should go now, Jane,” Henrik told him, “Be ready to work with a better attitude tomorrow.”

“I hope you won’t be offended if I say same to you, sir,” Jane said, grabbing his things, “Goodbye, Henrik.  I’m leaving the shop now.”

There were a few minutes of where it was Henrik working alone, taking care of the small bubbles of customers, but he managed.  He was the manager, he could take of this shop like nobody’s business.  He didn’t need anyone else to help him.

About twenty minutes later, Ash’s colored head poked in, a nervous smile on their face.  They walked up quietly behind Henrik, who was currently washing some items in the sink, and spoke.

“Hi!” They said, receiving a clatter of dropped spoons in reply, “Did I startle you?  I didn’t mean to startle you.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Ash,” Henrik sighed, picking the spoons back up and washing them again.

“No, it’s not fine.  I was going to ask you for a favor and now you’re having to work more because of me,” They said quickly, “Do you want me to wash those spoons?  I’ll wash those spoons really good.”

“Ask me what?” He asked, shutting the faucet off and giving his attention to Ash, “What were you going to ask me, Ash?”

“I, uh, oh.” Ash replied, caught off-guard, “Okay, um, see there’s this thing I want to do, but I’m going to need tomorrow off to take part in it, and it’d be really awesome if I could because it’s a latte art competition and I think I have a chance and I’ll give you some of the money if I win but winning’s not a stressful thing because even if I don’t win it’ll be okay and-”

“Slow down, please.” Henrik said, “There’s a competition you want to enter?”

“Uh huh.  A latte art competition,” They nodded, rubbing a foot against the back of one of their legs “But it starts in the morning and I’d miss the morning part of my shift tomorrow so I wanted to ask you first, but then I started thinking about how there might be money, and then there might not be money, and how you should get part of the money if I win, because I’m taking time off and stuff and-”

“Breathe,” He reminded them, “Is it in town?”

“No, it’s a couple towns over, but I’ve got a ride,” They said, “Mick said he’d take me there and he’s the reason that I don’t have any pressure to win now or anything because before I could’ve used the money to stay in my apartment but now I don’t have to because he’s letting me stay at his place right now and-”

“So you’re staying with Mundy?” Henrik asked, then realizing his mistake of leaving the question open-ended he added, “Yes or no?”  

“Yes, he’s-”

“So there’s prize money?  Yes?”

“Yeah,” Ash was partially hiding their face behind the large sleeves of their sweatshirt, “ And I thought that maybe you should get some too because you’e giving me a job and-”

“No, Ash.  If you win anything, it’s yours to keep,” Henrik told them, “It’s your talent alone that helped you, and you deserve the reward for it.”

Ash lowered their arms, their eyes widening as a smile bloomed on their face.

“So I can go?” They asked excitedly, “I can go do the thing?”

“You may go do the thing,” Henrik told them, “Would you like the whole day off?”

“No, no.  It’s just a morning thing, so I’d just miss the first almost part of my shift,” They said.

“So if I schedule you for two or three, you’ll be fine?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great!” They said, “Super duper great!  Oh my gosh I get to go do the thiiiiing!  I’ve always wanted to go do the thing!!  Aaaaah, IloveyousomuchHenriksir!” 

Before Henrik could register what Ash was saying or doing, he was pulled into a tight hug.  Their arms wrapped around him, and they held him close for a good minute.  

The last time he had gotten a hug like this, he had loaned Scout twenty dollars after the boy forgot to buy a present for Mother’s day.  He was pretty sure he had never gotten paid back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just hug you like that,” They said, letting go and backing a step away, “I mean, I meant to, I wanted to, but I didn’t _mean_ to, it just happened.”

“It’s fine,” He said, a small confused smile on his face, “Just suit up and get ready for work.”

“Yeah, sure, thing, “ They said, “I love your glasses, by the way.  They make you look like a cool hipster kind of guy, that’s too cool to be a hipster and you look a cool reporter that reports on like the cool stuff in the paper, like not the deaths, that’s a bummer, but the concerts and stuff and the coffee house things and-”

“That is extremely specific,” Henrik noted, “Have you met someone like this, and is it a good specific kind of look to you or not?” 

“No, it’s a good one.  They look good on you.  The round ones were kinda...fuddy-duddy.  These look neat.”

“I’m borrowing them from a friend.  I’m getting my fuddy-duddy glasses back tomorrow, probably.”

“I...Uh...Oh.  Have you thought about getting rectangle frames instead because they make you look...they look good.”  They said, peeping into the backroom to find a subject change, “Where’s Jane?”

“He, ah, had to leave early.” Henrik replied, going back to washing the spoons, “It’ll just you and me for the afternoon.”

“Oh, okay,” Ash said, “I hope he’s okay.  He’s a pretty nice guy.”

Henrik had to fight to stifle a laugh.  Jane?  A nice guy?  Ha!

“What makes you think that?” Henrik asked.

“He takes care of his friends.  It takes a lil’ bit to be his friend, but he takes care of them in the ways that he thinks best,” Ash replied, “He’s a brave guy too.”

“Oh?”

“It takes a lot to wear your heart on your sleeve like that, don’t you think?” Ash asked, “A lot of us like to hide our feelings, because we don’t want to get hurt, or because we don’t want others to judge us, and so we wear a mask to keep ourselves safe.  He just says whatever’s on his mind, whatever’s in his heart, and I think that’s pretty brave.”

“Or stupid.” Henrik replied, causing Ash to frown slightly.

“...But aren’t stupid people the bravest ones in the end?” Ash argued, “Smart people overthink everything, planning everything out, and if it doesn’t work, they don’t try.  Stupid people dive right in, no matter how hot or cold the water is.  They live the most, love the easiest, get hurt a lot, but in the end they still try more then the smart over-thinkers ever will.  Whatever happens to them...happens, and I think that’s kinda beautiful.”

“Being stupid and brash makes them brave?”

“Brave in a way, I guess.  Brave enough to still try even when they don know what’ll happen,” Ash said, pausing, “Did you and Jane have a fight?  I’ve never heard you really insult anyone before.”

“We...may have had something like that,” Henrik said slowly, “A small fight.”

“A small fight that left you working alone?”

“Yeah,” Henrik said, “Are you dressed for work yet?”

“No, give me a minute,” Ash said, heading towards the bathroom, “Musta’ been a tense one, huh?” 

“Mmm...” Henrik pretended that he had stopped listening, and Ash got the message.  They stepped into the bathroom, changing into their baggy uniform, and moved to put their backpack away in the coffee bar’s bottom cabinet when they were done.

“Was it about money?” Ash asked worriedly, standing back up, “It wasn’t about me, was it?”

“Why would we be arguing about you?” Henrik asked, “I thought you called him a ‘nice guy’?”

“I know Jane didn’t like me when I started working here.  And it hasn’t been that long since that,” Ash said, “Not too crazy for me to think that he’d be ragging me when I’m not here.  Wouldn’t be the first time people start talking behind my back.” 

“We weren’t arguing about you, Ash, nor money,” Henrik promised, “It was something...It was personal, not about personnel .”

“Ah.” was all Ash said, though it was clear they were unsatisfied by the answer.

It was refreshingly quiet for the next hour or two.  Customers came in, talking and gabbing about Lord knows what, but at least it wasn’t aimed at Henrik or his personal life.  They could talk about their dog walkers and sex life’s all they wanted as long as the conversation didn’t turn to Henrik’s or lack there of. 

“It’s got to be love,” Ash said quietly, after the latest customer had left.

Henrik didn’t hear them the first time they spoke, partially because he was in the back, searching for chocolate chips now that they needed some up front.

“What did you say?” He asked, poking his head out of the backroom.

Ash smiled at Henrik, wisely choosing to keep their mouth shut now that they were sure they figured everything out.

“I said I need more cups,” Their face was bright with a smile, “Can you get me more venti cups while you’re back there?”

“Certainly,” Heirk said, “I’ll bring you some when I come out.  Give me a few minutes.”

While he was back there, Scout showed up for his shift, causing Ash to glance up at the clock.  How had time passed so quickly?  Apparently keeping their mouth shut took more concentration than they had thought.

“Hey,” Scout said with a nod.

Ash gestured for him to step closer, and he merely looked at them.  When the gesturing started to get more frantic, he finally obliged them.

“Wassup?” He asked, leaning in on the front counter.

“Henrik’s in a mood,” Ash whispered.

“What mood?” Scout asked, his voice a whisper as well.

“A mood where he sent Jane home early.”

“He sent someone home early?” Scout asked, eyes widening as he processed Ash’s words.

“Uh huh,” Ash said, “They got in a fight about something.”

“Do you know what?”

“I don’t.  I know it’s not money, and I know it’s not me,” They said.  Ash glanced back at the store room door, and then pulled themselves even closer to Scout.  Never mind that their legs were dangling in the air, they needed this to be really super quiet.

“I think he’s in love,” Ash said into Scout’s ear, their voice barely a whisper.

“ _No,”_ Scout whispered back, trying to act surprised.  Even though he had been orchestrating this thing, he wasn’t supposed to know a thing about it.

“Yeah, I really think he is.  He and Jane must love the same person, and now they’re going to be fighting _all_ of the time,” Ash said worriedly.

“Nah,” Scout said as he moved closer to Ash, trying to reassure them, “This probably just something that they’ve gotta work out.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, just probably a small fight that escalated, you know?” Scout said turning to look back at them as he leaned his back against the counter, “I mean, what’s the chance that they both fell in love with the same guy?”

“Ash!” Henrik called from the backroom, interrupting the two younger baristas, “How are we doing on caramel sauce?”

“We could use more,” Ash called back, “Get some small cups too!”

“...Okay, small and venti cups, as well as caramel sauce and the damn mini-chocolate chips I can’t find.” Henrik said back, a clatter indicating that he was back to searching the back room. 

Ash had stopped listening to Henrik, though, a more interesting development taking place with Scout.

“It’s a _guy?”_ Ash asked, their whisper growing louder until they caught themselves.

Scout slipped partially off of the counter, not realizing what he had let slip out of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, but shhhh,” Scout said, bringing a finger to his lips, “He doesn’t know that we know, so we shouldn’t let him know that we know, ya’ know?”

“Oooh...How do you know?” Ash asked him.

“Mmm, I’ve worked with the guy for while now.  I know some things,” Scout said, trying to move Ash past the subject, “Don’t worry about it anymore.”

There was a crash from the backroom, and the sound of Henrik cursing in German 

“But Jane-” Ash started.

“Jane and Henrik are in love with two different people, Ash, and they’ll be getting along real soon,” Scout said, “I promise.”

 “Okay,” Ash said, a relieved smile on their face, “I need to wipe the counter now, don’t I?”

“We have been crawling all over it, so yeah,” Scout confirmed, pushing off of the counter, “Want me to do it?”

“No, I got it,” Ash said, soaking a rag, “Oh, did Henrik talk to you about the thing yet?”

Scout stopped.

“The thing?”

“If you don’t know what thing, then I’m not going to tell you,” Ash said, “Henrik’ll probably talk to you about the thing later.  He’s already told me about the thing he wants to ask you, so he’s going to ask you later, definitely.”

“What thing?” Scout asked again.

“When he asks you, you’ll know,” Ash said, “Congrats, by the way.”

“Congrats?” Scout asked, thoroughly confused now, “About what?”

“I can’t talk, I’m wiping the counter,” Ash said, smiling secretively.

“Aw, come on, you’re not wiping it with your mouth!” Scout said.  Now, he was loud enough to attract Henrik’s attention.  The man came out of the back room, arms full with a caramel sauce bag, the formerly elusive chocolate chips, and both the small and venti cups.

“Scout, hands clean?” He asked.

“Washing up,” Scout replied, already scrubbing away in the sink.

“Good.  Refill the caramel once you’re done,” He said, placing the bag on the back counter, “I’ll put the-...Ash, I’m not saying it’s full, but you have plenty of small cups here.  Zhe venti was fairly full as well.”

“I was just getting us ready for the night crowd,” Ash explained with a shrug, trying to excuse their excuses.

“...If you insist,” Henrik said, refilling the cups as needed, “Hello, Scout.”

“Hey, Hen, do you have somethin’ ta’ ask-” He said, but any conversation he wanted to have was cut short by some customers entering the shop.  

Most of the evening was spent catering to a steady flow of customers.  For the next hour and a half, there were never less than five customers in the shop, and there were usually more.  It was until the sky was starting to grow dark that the three of them were able to take a breather.

“It has been very busy tonight,” Henrik noted, readjusting his cap.

“Yeah, there’s a wedding thing in town,” Scout said, “Like a thing where a bunch of florists, and wedding planners, and people like that throw a thing so that the brides can go look at things to pick for their wedding.”

For his explanation, he received a confused look from both Henrik and Ash.

“How do you know that?” Henrik finally asked, “Are you a wedding connoisseur of sorts?”

“Nah, but my mom is, dependin’ on what ya’ mean by connoisseur,” Scout said, “She’s in the wedding biz, so she’s been prepping for this thing for while.  It’s going on all week, I think.”

“Ah,” Henrik replied, “That explains it, I suppose.  It’s nice to have this many customers.”

“My mom’s probably bragging up your shop,” Scout said, “She likes ta’ talk a lot.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Henrik said, wiping at his forehead with his arm, “It shows.”

“Are you saying I talk a lot?” Scout accused, his smile betraying his tone.

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Henrik said.

“I think he’s saying you do,” Ash cut in.

“Agree.  Leetle boy talks too much,” A new voice cut it, startling Ash.  When they looked to see who was talking, they saw the largest man that they had ever seen this week.  He was easily 6 feet tall, maybe more and he looked bald and mean.  He didn’t _sound_ mean though, he sounded like he knew Henrik and Scout pretty well...

“Misha,” Henrik said, greeting the man before the awkwardness of yesterday suddenly hit, “You’re...ah, you’re earlier than usual.”

“Wanted to arrive before shop closed,” Misha replied, watching curiously as Scout waved Ash over to the backroom, “Glasses good?”

“Ah, yes, they’ve been helping me very much with work today. Thank you for loaning them to me,” Henrik said, starting to slide the glasses off, “Do you want them back now?”

“Have you got new ones?” Misha asked, trying to not get distracted by how Henrik’s was stating to get that kinda attractive squinty look again the minute he took the glasses off.

“No, not yet,” Henrik admitted, unaware of Scout waving Ash into the backroom, “Hopefully by tomorrow I can get a new pair.”

“Then keep them for now,” Misha said, preparing to try a thing Zhanna had told him to try, “They help you with work, yes?  They also work well on you.”

Henrik paused, taking a second to take a sudden breath.  His stomach got a tense, flutter and he was left at a loss for words.

He wasn’t the only one at a loss for words.  Ash, poking their head out of the backroom with Scout, had a hand clapped over there smiling mouth.  Scout was busy giving Misha a grin and a thumbs up.

Ash then yanked Scout back into the room, letting the door silently swinging the door behind them.

“That’s the guy?” They asked quietly, “That’s Henrik’s guy?”

‘That’s the one,” Scout whispered back.

“Is he usually that...flirty?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Really?  They’re so cute together,” Ash said, unable to stop the huge smile on their face, “ And Henrik looks so happy too...”

“Cute?  I don’t think that Misha fits the definition of-”

“Let’s get back out there and watch some more, before we miss too much,” Ash said, pulling him back to the door, “This is really really exciting and I don’t want to miss it.”

The two of them were back in their positions, in less than a minute, and the scene had barely changed.  Henrik now had a slight smile on his face, and Misha had a bigger one.

Henrik was trying to thank of something to say.  His brain had stopped working the good for a moment, in which Misha quietly waited, and Henrik was thankful he had that moment to recover.

Misha, meanwhile, was quietly imagining Zhanna giving him a thumbs up in this pause of conversation.  

He had gotten quite the speech when Zhanna heard that he had merely just dropped Henrik off like they had  - perhaps she wanted him to propose marriage to the man now that they had had a decent conversation outside of the coffee shop for the first time - and, what her lesson boiled down to was that if Misha didn’t make a move, then someone else might.  

So what time was better than the present to start testing the waters?

The waters seemed to be set up for smooth sailing.  Henrik had a few emotions display on his face, after he seemed to back in his right mind, starting with surprise.  If it weren’t for the timid smile that formed on Henrik’s face, right after the knitted brow of hopeful confusion appeared, then Misha would have stopped right there.  

That hopeful, almost scared to be hopeful, look he saw kept him going.

“Was wondering if you ever have free time? ” Misha continued, “ I know you are very busy man, very busy, both of us are.  But are you busy two days from now?”

“Two days from-?  I believe I’m free for the most pa-,” Henrik paused, unsure if he knew why Misha was asking, “Why?”

His question caught Misha by surprise, and the other man straightened up suddenly, reaching up to adjust and pull at his tie.

“To take to dinner?” Misha supplied, hand moving down to his cuffs, “Do you want to go out to dinner?”

“Yes, I do.  I just wanted to be sure,” Henrik replied, suddenly feeling awkward.  The smile on his face was nervous, as was the look in his eyes.

“Ha.  Yes, I understand.  Would be awkward to - what is saying? -  not be in same book, yes?  Good to check,” Misha replied with a nod, “We have date?”

“..Is it a date?” Henrik teased, leaning forward on the counter, head resting on his hand.  He was in a very good mood now, more than would have expected.

“Only if you want it to be,” Misha said with a shrug, “Would be nice to talk outside of coffee shop at least.”

“You mean instead of hitting on me and asking me out at my work?”

“Only place I know to find you,” Misha pointed out.

“That’s true, I do live here sometimes.  More time than at my apartment, I think,” Henrik said, “I’ll forgive you this time, for hitting on an employee at their work, but only because you’re special.”

“How special?”

”You’ll just have to wait and see.  Maybe I’ll even tell you on this date,” Henrik teased, “Day after tomorrow?”

“Yes.  Would have asked for tomorrow, but I wanted to give you time for it,” Misha said, ”Also have meeting tomorrow.  Not good for mood, very bad mood maker, not good for time, so not good for date.  Day after is much better.”

“Do you want to meet at the coffee shop?  Sometime after seven...maybe six?  Or would you rather meet somewhere else?” Henrik asked.

“Coffee shop is good.  Time is up to you,” Misha said with a grin, “Some restaurants are open to ten, so before then is good.  Six or seven does not matter.”

“Mmm, then I’ll have to think about the time.  Can I call you?” Henrik asked, “I have to look at schedules, and then work things out, and-”

“Will give you number,” Misha said with a nod, pulling out his phone, “Ready?”

“Ah, give me a minute,” Henrik said, fiddling with his phone, “I have to find the place to put it in first.”

“Of course.”

Ash and Scout were still watching from the backroom, and Misha noticed them while he was waiting on Henrik.  Scout gave him a grin, and it was returned. If anything else happened, Scout missed it because Ash yanked him into the backroom once more.

“They’re going on a date,” Ash whispered happily, “They’re actually going to go on a date?”

“Sounds like it, yeah,” Scout replied, also sounding thrilled.

“They’ve never been like this before,?” Ash asked,  “The whole big flirting with each other thing is new?”

“Nah, this is a new step for them.  A really new one,” Scout answered, “They’ve been at the they should flirt but they don’t stage for, like, months now.  It’s about time they moved things along.”

“We are so lucky there are like no customers right now.”

“Usually aren’t at night.  It’s way quieter, except for usually when college’s going on.  We get busy all the time then.”

“Do you think they’re gonna _kiss_ on the date?”

“Ooh, uh, I don’t know.  They might.”

Ash opened their mouth to say something, but stopped when they heard the sound of Misha reciting his number.

“Oh, oh, oh!  They’re getting back to it.” They said excitedly.

“Wanna get back out there and watch?”

“You know it!”

The two of them were back in their positions, heads poking out of the doorway, and this time they received a raised eyebrow from Misha.  It was in good nature, indicated by his amused smile, and Henrik was too busy putting the Russian’s number in his phone to see or wonder what was going on around him.

“Your number looks familiar,” Henrik commented as he put it in his phone,  “You need my number now, don’t you?”

“Ah, no-” Misha started, but he stopped.  Scout had given his Henrik’s number, so Henrik didn’t know that he had it.  Scout’s look of panic had Misha correcting his sentence

“-Why not?  Please give me number,” Misha said instead, getting a sightly confused look from Henrik before the German looked down at his phone again.

Misha made sure to look like he was putting Henrik’s number in his phone as the man read off the number.  Scout had been generous to give him Henrik’s number, so he didn’t want to get the boy into trouble for it.

“Now that that’s done, can I get you anything to drink, Misha?” Henrik asked, shutting his phone and stuffing it back in his apron’s pocket.

“Already got what I came for,” Misha said with a shrug.

“I still have your glasses-” Henrik paused, “Oh.  You mean-?”

“Will have usual drink,” Misha said, “Has been a while now.  You remember how to create it?”

“As if I’d forget after only a few days,” Henrik scoffed, “Just a moment, I’ll have it ready for you shortly.”

As he made the drink, as he could easily do on autopilot, Henrik started to remember that he had co-workers present.  Or at least ones that were supposed to be present.  It had been awfully quiet.  Had they taken advantage of his distraction to slack off or-

He glanced to his right, and started to look back down at the coffee until he took a double take.  Ash and Scout were peeking out of the backroom, obviously having been watching him and Misha...interact.

Opening his mouth to respond, he was cut off by Ash trying to stifle a giggle and Scout trying to quietly shush them.

“Amused, are you?” Henrik finally asked.

“No, just happy,” Ash squeaked out, “Congrats on the date, Henrik sir.”

Instead of responding or sputtering out a response, Henrik went back to making the drink, though he was nearly done with it.  Misha, however, opted to speak.

“You have very colorful employee.”

“Mmm, yes,” Henik replied, “That’s Ash.”

“Ash?” Misha checked the name before speaking to them, “You would fit in at top of Saint Basil’s.”

“Toppa’ what?” They asked, trying to figure out if they were being insulted or not.

“Saint Basil’s.” Misha said again, getting no look of understanding from Ash, “Is cathedral.  In Moscow.  Very colorful building.  Very interesting and beautiful too.  Was supposed to be compliment.  Should go look building up.”

“I love interesting buildings, especially colorful ones,” Ash said, “Saint Basil’s?  I’m gonna check it out later.  Thank you, sir.”

“Is no problem, Vasily, ” Misha said, turning back to Henrik who had finished with his coffee, “Thank you, Henrik.  Here is money.  I will see you later, yes?”

“Yes.  Two days,” Henrik confirmed, opening up the cash register, “I look forward to it.”

“Me too,” Misha said as he left, “Very much so.  Take care of self, Henrik.”

“You too,” Henrik said as the door shut behind Misha.

He sighed happily, taking a chance to enjoy the moment he had just experienced.  Satisfied he had enjoyed it enough, he turned back to Scout and Ash.  

“Get to mopping,” He ordered, “Both of you.”

Scout groaned, but he pulled the mop and bucket out of the closet and started filling the bucket up.  Ash started to help, but Henrik stopped them.

“Ash, you’re done for the day.  It was later than I thought it was.”

“Meaning?” They asked.

“I can’t make you mop right now,” Henrik replied, “Please get out of the backroom now.  Shoo.”

"Okay, okay,” They laughed, stripping off their apron, “I didn’t realize what time it was either.  I’d love to stay longer, but I’ve got to get going.  My ride’s waiting.”

They grabbed their backpack and started to leave.  Before the door shut behind them, Henrik called out to them.

“Good luck tomorrow.”

They turned and gave him a smile and a wave, letting him know they had heard him, before they started heading for a truck waiting in the lot.

“Good luck with what?”

“They’re entering a competition tomorrow.  They’ll be working later than usual tmorrow because of it.”

“What kind of competition?” Scout asked, “If it’s a dye job contest, I think they’d win easily.”

“It’s a latte art competition.”

“Oh.” Scout said, a small smile on his face, “Cool.”

A couple entered the shop, and the conversation stalled as Henrik took care of them and Scout continued to mop.  After they were taken care of, Scout started to talk again.

“So what’s it like having a big date with the big guy?”

“I haven’t had it yet,” Henrik replied coolly.

“It’s pretty excitin’, isn’t it?” Scout asked, “Just thinkin’ about a date?”

“What are you...” Henrik paused, “You had one with Pauling.  I forgot.  How was it?”

“Oh, man, it was great.” Scout stopped mopping, leaning on his mop as he talked, “We froze our butts off at the game, the popcorn was stale, and she had to run off ‘cause of some kind of disturbance down at Double Shot.  What she said ’fore she ran off was that a guy was causin’ trouble down at Borneo and Byre...That’s Double Shot, right?”

“ _Ja.”_

"Then that’s what I know about that...” Scout rubbed at the back of his neck, “I don’t know man, I think she’s the one.”

 _“_ Did the stale popcorn tell you that?”

 _“_ No, it’s just...” Scout paused, “When I look into her eyes, I see a future.  I see a life I want to live.  So I know she’s the one for me...all I can hope is that I’m the one for her.  Jules was talking to me about how to win a lady, but I don’t know.”

Henrik looked over towards Scout, seeing a slight worried frown on the boy’s face.

“Scout, may I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Did she smile?”

“Yeah, really big.  With the whole pretty eye-crinkling and stuff,” Scout answered, “Especially when we were at the park.”

“Did she laugh?”

“Yeah,” Scout said, “I told some jokes, and they were kinda bad now that I think about it, but she still laughed.  It was a pretty laugh.”

“Was she looking at you?”

“Where else would she look?” Scout asked, “Have you seen me?  I mean, you have, you’re looking at me now, but have you seen me flex and stuff?”

“She could look away from you.  Around you, everywhere but you,” Henrik said, “She could look through you, and pretend not to acknowledge your physical existence.”

“Ladies can do that?   Damn.”

“They can be quite good at it,” Henrik replied, “It’s happened to me.  They can see you, they talk to you, but they look right through you.”

“...How can you tell?”

“Was she looking you in the eyes?”

“Yeah. ‘cept when she was lookin’ at other stuff, like the game,” Scout said, “But when she looked at me, it was in the eyes.”

“Then you’re fine,” Henrik said, “Did she get angry at all?  About anything?”

“I leaned kinda over the railing ta’ see if I catch her a ball, and she got kinda huffy about that,” Scout said, starting to look nervous again.  If he made her mad, did that mean that he had blown his only chance with her?

“One, don’t lean over railings.  I don’t blame her for getting ‘huffy’ about that,” Henrik said, using finger quotes as he talked,  “But, now I’m not saying you should annoy her on purpose, but her getting ‘huffy’ isn’t a bad thing.”

“Really?” Scout asked, relieved at Henrik’s words, “Why?”

“Because she’s getting ‘huffy’ because she cares,” Henrik said, “When someone stops getting annoyed or frustrated with you, it means they’ve stopped caring.  Her getting angry about you leaning over the rail means that she didn’t want you to get hurt, at the very least.”

Scout stood up straighter.

“What else can ya’ tell me about ladies?” Scout asked, “Ya’ seem ta’ know a lot about ‘em, Hen.”

“I know some things, yes,” Henrik said, resting on his arms, “I was married for...Good Lord, was it really for-...We married after I graduated...School took a while, but...Around twenty years, I think.  Maybe less.”

“Wow, you’re old,” Scout said, “You’ve been married for like almost as long as I’ve just been alive.”

“Old, and all out of tips for you,” Henrik said bluntly.

“Wait, how are you out already?” Scout asked, “You’ve probably got like tons in there.”

“My question is why are you calling your superior old when he’s just trying to help?” Henrik asked, “Obviously, I’m too old to help you now.”

“Aw, come on, man,” Scout whined, “Give me something here.  Please?”

“Alright.  One more.  Just because you said ‘please’,” Henrik said, “Never forget how happy she makes you.  Even when you’re fighting, never forget the good times.  When you’re living the good times, enjoy them for all they’re worth.  And, after everything, if it’s not working out for her, then make those memories all you keep, and let her go.”

“That was...deep.  Way more than I expected.  We aren’t married yet, ya’ know.” Scout said, “I was expecting something like ‘pop a mint ‘fore ya’ kiss’, ask ‘fore ya’ use tongue, or ‘wrap it ‘fore ya’ tap it,’ but that was...wow.  Thanks, Hen.”

“Mmm, you’re welcome.” Henrik said, turning back to the sink, “Now go back to mopping.”

“Yeah, okay,” Scout said as he dipped the mop back in the bucket, “Hey, Hen, what’s that thing you wanted to talk about?”

“Are you trying to get out of mopping?”

“Nah, not this time.” Scout said, “Ash said you had a thing you wanted to talk about with me.”

“I did?” Henrik paused, brow furrowing until he remembered, “Oh, zhat’s right.  Scout, how would you like to be a manager?”

“...What?”

“A manager,” Henrik said as he turned back around, “I think you’d do well with the role.  You already proved you could handle it by managing Jane’s shift the other day.  It’d have a pay increase too.  What do you think?”

“Ah...” Scout went back to mopping, “Nah, I’m good.  It’s cool ya’ think I can do the managing stuff, but I don’t wanna.”

Henrik was taken aback by Scout’s response.  Out of everything Scout could have said “Nah, I’m good” had caught Henrik by surprise.

“Are you sure?” Henrik asked, “I believe you could handle it easily.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Scout said, “I’m flattered that you’d want me ta’ be a manager, but nah.”

“Nah?” Henrik asked, checking to make sure that he was hearing right and that his “old” ears hadn’t misunderstood Scout’s response.

“Nah.” Scout confirmed.

“I-...” Henrik paused, “Alright.  I can respect your decisions, um... If you ever change your mind, let me know.  There isn’t much competition for the spot right now.”

“Not even Ash?”

“No.  They’re skilled, yes, but they’re too timid to face down customers I feel,” Henrik said, “Too gentle to be tossed out into the front lines like that.  One angry customer could crack them.  Jane had to stick up for them the other day.  They’re very good at what they do, and I feel they’re in the best spot right now.”

“So what about Jane?”

“Scout, I like my store to not end up problems stemming from managers punching customers in the face,” Henrik said, “So not Jane, no.”

“I mean, it’s cool and all, but I’m still gonna say no,” Scout said.

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

“...Yeah actually,” Scout said, “It’s kinda a personal reason.”

“Oh?” Henrik said.  

That was all he said though.  What else could you say to a response like that?

“Scout, would you mind if you and I went through some of the training?” Henrik asked, “You won’t be promoted, you can still retain your current position, but I would like you to know how to do it in case you ever have to step in for me again.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Scout said.  He could agree to that.

“Then let’s start,” Henrik said, “We can start with the books.”

“What about the floor?”

“Forget mopping right now.  Come over here.”

The two of them spent the rest of the shift taking care of customers between managerial lessons.  The only break from bookkeeping was when they had to clean the place up for the night.

Scout’s mother Iris picked him up this time.  A brief conversation with the tired looking woman revealed that she had been working the Winter Wedding Week Expo, and that Scout’s step-father had another late-night interview somewhere.  

Henrik briefly wondered if Julien would like to be a manager before reminding himself that Julien had never worked a day at the shop, and had probably never worked in the food industry, meaning he was pretty unqualified for the position.  

Scout the reluctant boy wonder was the best person for the position.  

Now if only he would _take_ the job being throwing in his face, life would be just perfect.

Henrik decided that it was best that he try to enjoy the rest of his evening, and he only let himself stew about his co-worker until he reached his apartment.  After that, he made himself relax with a cup of tea, nice music, and birds.  Birds always helped him relax, especially with how happy Archimedes was to see him every night.

She’d be able to see him more too if Scout stepped up.

But now was not the time for thinking about that.  

Think about the birds, Henrik, just think about the birds.

Somehow, the man was relaxed enough to be tired.  Or was he tired enough to have to be relaxed?  Either way, it was a fairly nice state to be in, even as he found himself falling asleep on the couch.

Forcing himself to get ready for bed, he found himself feeling a strange, happy feeling.  It was a nervous one, but also fairly thrilling, and it was bizarrely wonderful to even just think about, let alone experience.

He had a date with Misha, the man he was fairly sure he was falling for, in two short days.

He had to get through tomorrow first.  There were glasses to get, drinks to be made, employees to be managed, and then the day was done.  That time with Misha was so close, yet so far, with only tomorrow standing in the way.

That appointment.  He had forgotten about it until now.  He needed to schedule people later, or let the other know that he might be late, because of having to get his glasses replaced.

He might just even check out the rectangular frames, instead of just the round ones, too.

They did seem to “work well” with how he looked, after all, and what could be better than that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot October existed apparently, so I'm trying to make that up by shooting out another chapter soon. Can't promise anything, but fingers crossed you know? 
> 
> Again, this is kind of unedited right now, I will acknowledge that fact and hold it close, and I will get back to editing it more later.
> 
> Also, Zhanna, Scout, and Ash are completely on board the MishaHenrik ship. Right now, they're basically piloting the thing until the two guys manage to figure things out.
> 
> Kind of a scary thought, ain't it?


	8. The More They're Set Aflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've never been good at summaries.
> 
> What happens in this chapter?:  
> Action!  
> Love!  
> Birds!  
> Loss!  
> Inventorying!  
> Passion!  
> Henrik!  
> Romance!  
> Ash!  
> More Action!  
> Drama!  
> Pumpkin Spice Lattes!  
> and some other pretty hot stuff, if you ask me. ;) ;) ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find this chapter here on tumblr: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/136558178382/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-8  
> Likes and reblogs are appreciated, but by no means required.
> 
> Chapter has been little baby edited. Will be more baby edited later.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoy the chapter! It's one I've been planning out for a bit and I'm both excited and nervous about releasing. =)
> 
> OH HEY AND LEAVE those END notes for AFTER reading the chapter. They may contain a SPOILER or two about this chapter, so save them for after 
> 
> Happy reading!

Henrik’s alarm blared the next morning, waking the man up for the day.  When he woke up, he couldn’t quite remember his dream, but he knew it had been a very strange one, though also, almost, nice too.  

If he thought hard about it, he might have realized that it not only was he apparently a mad scientist in that dream-world, but that there was a large man - his patient? -  on the table.  Also, there had been a head in the fridge, he was going to check his real fride here in a minute, and a sci-fi weapon made out of a blender, and many different hats scattered around. 

All of that might have made him pause and wonder if there was a meaning behind any of those, if he was losing his mind, if he was just tired, or if he should not have movies playing in the background for some noise before he went to bed. 

It might have, except he didn’t bother to try to remember it as he went about his morning.  He had the real world to focus on, there was no time to waste trying to remember a violent, bloody, though fascinatingly hat-filled dream like that.  

Heading for the kitchen, he grew distracted from his thoughts because there was the sound of a dove singing in only the way that their cooing let it.  Henrik took care to step quietly towards their cage, so as to not disturb the bird, and he got to see that it was one of the new ones who had decided to greet the morning in a cooing song.  It looked like it was Copernicus, if Henrik’s judgement was to be trusted.  Somehow, he could just look at his three doves and know which one was which.

The bird stopped singing when it noticed Henrik, so the man walked quietly over to the cage, to try to see if he could coax the bird out.

At first, the bird seemed to be trying to ignore him, seeing if the man would lose interest in them.  When Henrik’s still hand had yet to move, the bird tried to nibble at it, seeing if that was what it was going to take to get it to go away.

The sharp bites caused Henrik to wince slightly, but he kept his hand still.  He had a feeling, an inkling really, that maybe this was the day that he made some progress with the bird.  The two news ones had been trying to keep their distance, preferring just the company of each other to his.  Any progress that could made was good, no matter how small, because it was still progress after all. 

After a very long minute, the bird started to hesitantly climb up on the hand, gripping tightly as soon as it stopped.  Henrik gently pet the bird, keeping both his hands in the cage, making sure that it knew that everything was alright.  If he tried to move it, and it panicked, it could hurt itself.  He had to make sure that it was comfortable, or figure out if he should leave the bird alone for now, before he tried anything else.

As he stroked the soft, downy feathers, the bird started to coo once more, filling the tense silence with its gentle voice.  It was only then that Henrik felt it was alright for him to attempt to bring the bird closer.  

Carefully, he as slowly and smoothly as he could to the couch, sitting down so that the bird would be a safer distance to the ground in case it panicked.  Thankfully, the bird seemed to alright with Henrik holding it.  Not relaxed, but perfectly alright with Henrik stroking its back, talking sweetly to the bird, feeding it a treat.

This person wasn’t so bad.  The face the bird had feared before, the face of a man, was starting to look less fearsome.  

With the right care, and the right person, it was possible that the bird could learn to love again.

A gentle cooing alerted Henrik to the fact that his other birds were awake.  Now that Copernicus could see the other doves were awake, they wished to go back and join the others in the comforts of the cage.

Henrik was happy to oblige the small bird.  He carefully cupped the bird between his hands, and he carried the bird back to the cage.  Once the rest of the birds were greeted, pet, and fed, Henrik got ready to set out for his day. 

Before he went to work, he went to his appointment at the glasses shop.  Thankfully he had an eye check-up recently enough that he was able to get a prescription easily enough.  There were different frames to try on,  and Henrik did find himself trying on a few instead of just getting his old “fuddy-duddy” pair again.  

At first, he did try on a set that wasn’t unlike his previous pair, a wire set with round lenses.  But, despite how long he had been wearing glasses of this style, they did not seem to fit anymore.  A rectangle pair, ones without frames around the lenses, also didn’t seem to work.

He left with three pairs, two of them were a framed rectangle pair, one of which that he began wearing immediately.  Those glasses weren’t too unlike the reading glasses he had borrowed.  The other last pair was a round pair with dark frames, which would serve as his backup glasses in case the first ones broke.

After his business there had been taken care of, and he could see properly again, he was free to rush to the shop to open his baby up.

He arrived not long after the shop was supposed to be opened, and he set right to work getting the place ready for the day.

It was odd that Jane wasn’t here yet.  Usually the man would have been pressing his face against the window by now, looking to see if Henrik was inside.  The manager hoped that the man was going to show up today.  

Despite how he and Henrik had a small fight the other day, Henrik assumed that Jane was going to show up.  As far as Henrik was aware, Jane had never missed a day.  Even if Henrik had to make Jane sit in the corner because the man was addled with a cold, Jane had still stayed his whole shift, if it could be called a shift.  It was just strange that the man wasn’t here already.

Jane did show up.  It was just a few minutes later when the man arrived at the shop.  Henrik hoped that the two of them could make this work period pass by more smoothly than yesterday.

“Hello, Henrik,” Jane greeted as he walked into the building.

“Hello, Jane.” Henrik replied, keeping a careful eye on Jane.

“Henrik, sir, I want to apologize for my conduct yesterday,” Jane said, standing up straighter and tilting his head up, “I have had a sincere talk with my raccoons and they helped me see that yesterday, it wasn’t my place to start a fight with you.”

“Thank you, Jane, I appreciate heari-” Henrik paused, “Ah, wait, your raccoons?”

“My roommate also helped,” Jane said with a shrug, “But I feel that the raccoons helped more.”

“May I ask how? ”

“They bit every time I talked about it.”

“…Are you saying your roommate bit you?” Henrik asked, wondering who or what Jane’s roommate was.

“No, just the raccoons,” Jane replied seriously, “My roommate was too busy getting ready for his work, entertaining at a kids party, to bite me.  That was after I rode with him while we delivered pizzas last night and talked.  Then the raccoons bit me. ”

“…So your roommate is a person?”

“Of course he’s person” Jane said, “Raccoons make great companions, but they are horrible about paying rent.  That’s where Murray comes in.”

“It’s hard to be sure with you,” Henrik said, adding quickly, “You are quite the nature lover.”

“Have since I was a boy scout,” Jane replied.

“I do appreciate the apology, Jane,” Henrik said, “And I feel like I owe you at least a small apology of my own. I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that.”

“Apology accepted, sir.”

“Likewise. ” Henrik said, “Get to work now, Jane.”

“We are not fighting anymore, correct? ”

“No, we’re not. I prefer not to fight anyway,” Henrik said, pausing, “Though I will if I have to.”

“As any man should,” Jane said, getting behind the counter.

“Wash your hands,” Henrik reminded him.

As Jane moved back behind the counter, heading to the sink, he stopped.

“I nearly forgot.  I have a present for you, as an apology token,” Jane said, pulling a thing out of his pocket.

“You didn’t have to-” Henrik paused, trying to look over the paper towel wrapped item, “What is it?”

“My roommate baked brownies this morning.  He told me not to have any.  He did not say that I could not take any,” Jane said, holding the item out in his palm, “They were hot when I brought it, but it’s cooled down now, I am sure.”

“You brought me a brownie?” Henrik asked.

“Yes, sir!” Jane said, “You do like brownies, correct?”

“Well, yes,” Henrik said, gingerly taking the item out of Jane’s hand, “I’ll-...I’ll have it later.  For lunch, perhaps.  Thank you, Jane.”

Considering that the two of them had just made up, Henrik felt that it wasn’t very wise to turn down Jane’s... _ generous _ gift.  Who knows?  Maybe the brownie was actually good.

After that, the shift passed by without a hitch. The two of them had straightened out the situation between them, and it seemed like things were going to be alright.

Henrik mentally thanked the raccoons - if they could give life advice, then surely they had telekinesis as well - for keeping one of his few employees from quitting out of anger and instead helping the two of them make up. 

Maybe Henrik should send the raccoons a Christmas gift, though it’d be hard to shop for them because all he knew they liked were biting people in the arms and faces. Maybe an at-home rabies test for Jane would work, assuming they actually made those. Henrik would just have to see.

That thought reminded him.  Christmas was just around the corner, in a few short weeks. Henrik instead tried to deny the inevitable, pretending that no holiday, especially not one of the loneliest ones for him, was coming up. If they made a calendar that just skipped December then Henrik would have bought it, just so he had at least some sort of reassurance that his Christmas-less fantasy world of pretend could perhaps exist. At least Christmas sweaters were comfortable, if nothing else.

Even if that was the only thing he had to try to look forward to this time of year, it was still something.

Sighing with the thought, Henrik grabbed his clipboard and headed to the back of the shop.

“Jane, I’m going to be doing inventory all day, so please keep track of what you use, especially if you get anything out of the back.”

“Yes, sir!” Jane replied, finishing up an order, a pumpkin spice latte, that a man had ordered.

While Henrik was in the back of the shop, a small old man dawdled through the entrance, a young girl trailing right behind him.

The elder seemed to be inspecting the shop, looking around at areas beyond just the menu.

“Hello and welcome!” Jane greeted, “Are you ready to place an order?”

“No.” The man said, his daughter standing on tiptoe to look at the pastry case, “I would like to speak with the owner of the shop, however. Is that possible or would I need to set up an appointment?”

“The manager is in the back. Unless I am mistaken, he is part owner of here too,” Jane said.

“Get him for me.”

“Would you like anything to eat or drink first? ”

“No.”

Shrugging, Jane moved out from behind the counter, keeping an eye on the customers as he reached for the backroom door.

“Henrik, a customer wants to speak with you.”

“Oh?” Henrik leaned back to see Jane, peeping out from back behind a stack of coffee bean bags, “Yes, of course, I’ll be right there. Just give me a moment. ”

By the time Henrik had emerged from the backroom, Jane was back behind the counter. Henrik saw the older gentleman sitting down, a cane within reach of him to help assist with his walking. There was also a small child, a girl clad in a green dress.

The girl was pointing at the case, trying to get the man’s attention.

“Muffin?” She asked, “Grandpapa, I want-”

“No, Olivia, ” He said, moving to go sit down at a table, “I’m here to talk business. Be quiet, behave, and be a good girl now.”

Henrik watched as a small pathetic frown decorated the girl’s face.  With one last glance at the delicious, teasingly out of reach, muffins, the girl sulked her way back over to her “grandpapa.”

Henrik coughed quietly, trying to get the man’s attention.

“I believe you wished to speak with me?” He asked.

“Yes.” The man said, “Olivia, go sit elsewhere. I have to talk.”

While the girl, Olivia it seemed, found a different table to sit at, the gestured for Henrik to take a seat.

“What did you wish to talk about?” Henrik asked, pulling out a chair to sit on.

“I’m here to talk business with you.”

“Ah, I see, Henrik replied, holding out his hand, "Henrik Vogler.”

“Gray Mann,” The elder replied, merely eyeing Henrik’s extended hand until the other man awkwardly drew it back.

“I’ll be very blunt with you, Volger, because I don’t have time to waste beating around the bush, ” Gray said, either intentionally or not messing up the other man's name, “I’m interested in buying your business. ”

“That could be quite the interesting discussion, if we were to have it, but I’m not selling my stake in this business, Mr. Mann.”

“Mr. Volger, I can assure you that you will be more than just fairly compensated,” Gray said, pulling a folded-up, ready-made contract out if the inner pocket of his coat, “You could keep your job here, and your salary, but you could lose the responsibility of being an owner of this place. I’d even let you choose which employees get to keep their jobs.”

“I only have three employees at the moment.” Henrik said, watching as Olivia dumped her small wallet out on a table, taking great care to count the coins she possessed.

“Even better. All of your employees can keep their jobs,” Gray said, turning the paper around to face Henrik, “I would only need a few employees to run the machines for the shop.”

Machines? Ah, now Henrik knew knew where he had heard the man"s name. He was the fellow who had taken Ash’s last job away with his automatic coffee system.  Distracted only for a moment as he watched Jane deny Olivia some food, seemingly because the poor girl was short some money, Henrik responded to Gray.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Henrik said, pushing the paper away, “Besides that, I only own forty-nine percent of the business. You can hardly take over a business when you own less than half of it.”

“Then I’d like the number of your business partner.”

“Of course,” Henrik said brightly, retrieving a pen out of his apron and largely writing the number across the contract, making the paper useless, “I’m going to be blunt with you, Mr. Mann, because you don’t seem like a man who likes to waste time. She’s not going to sell. Not to you, not to me, not as long as this business is in good standing. Nevertheless, if there’s nothing else I can help you with, have a nice day.”

With a grimace on his wrinkled face, making it seem like the man had just tasted a tart lemon rather than just had a conversation, and he stood his small, hunched frame up from the table.

“Olivia.  Come here at once!” Gray demanded.

Olivia, the poor dear, seemed conflicted, glancing at her grandfather, and then back at the muffins.

“How much is she short?” Henrik whispered quickly to Jane as he stepped back behind the counter.

“A dollar, sir.” Jane replied, watching as Henrik used his key to open the register.

“Do you still want a muffin, Olivia?” Henrik asked quietly, seeing as how she grew more panicked as Gray started to leave her behind, “Which one did you want?”

“Chocolate,” She answered quickly, her breathing speeding up, “But your big, mean, dumb guy says I don’t have enough.”

“Let me count it,” Henrik said, holding out one hand as he signalled for Jane to get the girl a muffin.  Using the slight of hand, Henrik magically added a dollar to Olivia’s total, bringing her up to the right amount.

“Ah, you have enough,” He said, “Jane has your muffin.  Have a great day, Olivia.”

“I told you I had enough money, you meanie,” Olivia said, grabbing her muffin and running for the door, “I told you!”

“Sir, I counted her money correctly,” Jane said immediately after the door shut behind the girl.

“You did.”

“So why did you-?”

“Do you see who she has to live with?  I think I can take a dollar loss to make her day just a little sweeter.  I only hope Gray doesn’t knock it out of her hands in anger,” Henrik said, making a note of the future discrepancy, “Thank goodness he didn’t have her running the negotiations to buy me out.  I might have said yes.”

“Sir, you don’t mean that.” Jane said, straightening up as he looked Henrik over.

“Of course not,.” Henrik said with a small laugh, making sure the cash drawer was shut, “I was only joking, Jane, don’t you worry.  I’m not selling to anyone.” 

It was an hour or two before the next employee showed up. Jane had gone to work in the back when Ash arrived with Mundy striding in right behind them. Their face wore a surprisingly neutral look, lacking the usual beaming smile.

“Hello, Ash, Mundy,” Henrik greeted, “How did you fair at the competition, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I, ah… lost.” Ash said quietly, “I tried, but it wasn’t good enough. Sorry, Henrik sir.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Ash,” Henrik said, feeling disappointed for Ash, but not disappointed in them.

“It was a learning experience no matter what, and next time you’ll do better, I’m sure.” 

“Heh, you sound like a parent or something.” 

“Are you saying I sound like your father?” 

“Nah, you sound a lot nicer than him,” Ash said, adjusting their backpack, “I’m gonna get dressed for work now.” 

They shuffled over to the restroom, standing just a bit taller and smiling just a little bit more than they had been before. 

“Poor lil’ thing got nervous and panicked,” Mundy said as he leaned against the counter, watching Ash walk away, “They made it ta’ the final round, but the minute the spotlight was on them, they froze.”

“They made it to the final round?”

“Oh, yeah, one of the top scorers withouta’ doubt.  You’ve seen their stuff,” Mundy said, “But when they had ta’ show their technique, and not just the results of it, in front of everyone, they couldn’t stop shaking long enough ta’ make a straight line.”

“Ah, is that so?  That’s too bad…” Henrik said, “They did try, though, and that counts for something.”

“Doesn’t count for a medal,” Mundy pointed out, “It does, however, count for me takin’ them out for a good dinner later.  As a sort of fourth-place prize.”

“Hmm, that sounds nice...,” Henrik mused, looking over at Mundy, “Need a bag of the usual?” 

“Mmm, yeah,” Mundy said, “I’ll be needing a bag. Running out a lil’ faster than usual. ” 

“Because you have two coffee drinkers at your place now?” Henrik said, venturing a guess. 

Mundy seemed surprised by Henrik’s words, if the raising of his eyebrows indicated surprise.  The man was extremely laid back, so raised eyebrows and a tilt of the head meant that Mundy was surprised.  Last time Mundy had been this caught off-guard, his favorite brand of coffee had been on a buy one get one sale at the shop.  It wasn’t easy to surprise the man, that was for sure.

“Ash is staying at my place, yeah.  They tell you?” He asked.

“It slipped out in one of their, um, explanations.”

“Rambling one, ya’ mean?”

“Yes.” Henrik said, “Have they been living with you…long?”

“Nah, just a couple of days now.  They were getting kicked out of their place soon if they couldn’t pay up.  I checked out the place one time when I walked ‘em home after they visited the shelter with me.  Their apartment was a wreck.”

“A wreck?  How so?”

“Holes in the wall, heater was broken, nasty place with a nasty landlord.  Not worth licking a boot for, letting alone payin’ a buck.”

“So they’re living with you now?”

“I mean, yeah.  I asked ‘em if they’d be alright with it, after we looked for a couple different options and couldn’t find anything good.” Mundy replied, watching Jane go to the back room, “It’s been alright.  Paint smells sometimes when they’re workin’ on stuff, and they can get absolutely lost in their work sometimes, but the company’s good enough that I can ignore that.”

Mundy paused, apparently just noticing something, carefully sniffing the air.

“Is something wrong?” Henrik asked him, confused.

“Mary Jane?” Mundy asked him.

“Pardon?” Henrik said, “I don’t know anyone with that name, I don’t believe.  Are you in a relationship with her?”

“Nah, mate, not a person,” Mundy said quietly, “You a user?”

“A user of what?”

“Mate, I smell it,” Mundy told him, “What have you got on you?”

“An apron?” Henrik said slowly, “My marker, a brownie Jane stole from his roommate to give to me as an apology gift, a pen, some receipts a pack of chocolate chips I forgot I was bringing up here, and actually quite a few-”

“Henrik, lemme see this brownie,” Mundy said, a small smile on his face, “Pretty sure neither you nor Jane know what you’ve got here.”

Raising an eyebrow, Henrik pulled the wrapped brownie out, showing it to Mundy.  The Aussie laughed quietly.

“Trust me, Henrik, you don’t wanna be eating that,” Mundy said, “Not unless you wanna spend the rest of the day stoned out of your mind.”

Henrik paused, looking down the treat and then up at Mundy.

“Are you saying that he gave me-”

“Yes, he did.  Probably didn’t know it was laced,” Mundy said, “Ya’ probably want ta’ chuck that thing inta’ the garbage, Henrik, unless ya’ wanna be off your face.”

“I’d rather not be,” Henrik said, tipping his hand to drop the brownie, “It fell on the floor.  It’s inedible now.”

“What a shame,” Mundy said, “Just slipped outta’ your hand like that.”

“Fell before I could stop it.” Henrik said as he bent down to pick it up.

“God save the brownie,” Mundy said, bringing a hand to his chest, “You gonna chuck it now that we’ve had a funeral for it?”

“What else is there to do?” Henrik said as dropped the thing into the garbage

“Well you coulda’ve eaten the thing, Henrik, just ta’ see what happened-” Mundy stopped as the restroom door swung open with a small creak. Ash stepped out, dressed in their baggy uniform, carrying their backpack over one shoulder. 

“Lorikeet, Ash, hey,” Mundy said, giving them a moment to stand up after storing their bag behind the counter, “Got a question for ya’.”

“Hmm? What’s it?” They asked, a slightly nervous smile on their face, as if they were expecting Mundy to kick them out if his place right then and there. 

“Are you and me in a relationship or not?” He asked, boomeranging the conversation back to where it had been before the sweet surprise, “Kinda wondering what you thought.” 

“I…um. I like what we have as friends,” Ash said slowly, “But dating you…that could be nice too.” 

“Dating doesn’t mean that you and me still can’t be friends,” Mundy pointed out. 

“So can we be like friends with benefits?” Ash asked eagerly. 

“Benefits like what?” Mundy asked slowly. 

“Like cuddling on a couch together, watching a movie, eating popcorn and laughing at the bad effects?” Ash explained, “Or being able to fall asleep on you and you don’t mind ‘cause we’re dating? Or, um, going on walks where I get to hold your hand and you get to hold mine? Those kind of benefits. What were you thinking, Mick?” 

“I like those benefits too. But, um, Rosella, watch your phrasing there in the future. ” Mundy cautioned them, “ Those benefits of yours are lovely, but other people might think you mean different ones.” 

“Different-?” Ash asked, looking confused for only a moment, “Oh, you mean-…Oooooh.  No, no, no, not that.”

“Wasn’t asking for that,” Mundy said simply, “But, speaking of benefits, ya’ listed a bunch for you.  Do I get ta’ list any benefits?”

“Um…No.” Ash said with a grin, “You don’t need to.  The benefit you get is dating me, isn’t it?”

“That’s the biggest one.  Best one too,” Mundy said with a crooked smile, leaning gently on the counter towards them, “So are we officially dating now?” 

“…Can I give you a kiss on the cheek?” Ash asked quietly.

“That’s what it’s gonna take ta’ seal the deal?” Mundy asked with a laugh.

“Yup.”

Mundy responded by pushing himself over closer to them, making it easier for them to plant one on his cheek.

“Alright then, g’on now.”

Ash, leaning closer, gently brushed their lips against his cheek.  It was a soft, inexperienced kiss, and it was a sweet one too.

“We’re dating?” Mundy checked with Ash.

“We’re dating.” Ash confirmed.

“We’re dating,” Mundy informed Henrik, who had been quietly watching the whole scene unfold, “Officially now.”

“Congratulations?” Henrik asked, wondering if that was the proper thing to say to that whirlwind romance he had just witnessed, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Mundy said with a grin, “…Hey, Lorrikeet?”

“Yeah?” Ash asked with a shy grin.

“How you want me to introduce you to people at the concert I’m working tonight?  We’re still going, yeah?” Mick asked, “You wanna be my girlfriend, boyfriend, or ya’ just wanna let me know when we get there?  Is that how I’m supposed ta’ ask about your, uh…?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, that’s a good question…” Ash said, pausing, “Oh, I know.  I know what you can say.  You can just tell people I’m your best friend.  Is that okay?  Can I be your best friend, Mick?”

“Yeah, sure, ‘course ya’ can be,” The Aussie said, straightening up, “I’ll get out of your way now.  Let ya’ work in peace.  I’ll be back for ya’ after your shift, alright?  See ya’, Ash.”

Ash watched dreamily as Mundy strode out of the shop, and after the door clicked shut, they went right back to work, humming softly to themselves.

Henrik secretly wondered if there was some secret that he was unaware of, perchance something he didn’t know was on the menu, that was helping people have near instantaneous relationships in his shop.  How were they doing it?  Surely the coffee wasn’t that good.  Whatever it was, he would have liked to know a couple months ago.

No matter.  He was in the tender beginnings of maybe being in a possible relationship with someone eventually if the date actually did work out into something that had a chance of coming together.

Actually, on second thought, maybe he did need some of whatever everyone else seemed to be having.  A tall, big, Russian-sized glass of it.

“Ash,” Henrik finally said, realizing he had been measuring the same scoop of grounds for about two minutes, “I want you to work on the menu again.  I have a list of products and sales I need you to put up there.”

“Anything special you want me to do?” They asked.

“What you do already is special enough.” Henrik said, fishing the list for the board out of his apron, “So, please, just have fun with it.  Other than making sure the items are clearly readable, do whatever you want.”

“Okay, sweet,” Ash said, grabbing the list, “I’ll go get the stool and then get started.”

“You do that. I’m going to go check on Jane.” Henrik said, pouring the grounds back into the bag, “He’s been in the back awhile.”

“Are you two doing better?” Ash asked quietly, “No more fighting right now.”

“We are.” Henrik said, heading to the back room, “By the power of raccoons, we are getting along just fine again.”

As he stepped into the back, he heard a quiet “yay” from Ash, but he grew occupied with the sight in front of him.  Jane seemed preoccupied with something, but Henrik wasn’t entirely sure what.

“Jane, do you need any help?” Henrik asked, letting his presence be known as he stepped closer.

“Negatory, I am almost done ,” Jane replied.

“What are you doing with the foil?” Henrik asked, catching partial sight of what he was doing.

“I am almost done,” Jane replied again stubbornly.

“Done with what?”

“Almost.  Done.”

Henrik sighed, leaning against a wall as he waited.  Jane wasn’t leaving this room without giving an explanation, Henrik would be making sure of that, and Jane was obviously not going to stop until he was done.

Once Jane started to put the foil back, Henrik stepped towards him.

“Now will you tell me what you were doing?” He asked.

“Yes, but only if you keep your voice down,” Jane replied, his tone implying how important silence was.

“Alright,” Henrik whispered, “What have you been doing back here?”

Jane responded by holding up a crude medal he had crafted out of foil, two small hot drink lids, a stretched plastic wrapper for a chain, and a little too much duct tape.  On it, written in marker, read,  _ “ASH: Best coffee art hippie ever award _ .”

“What is-?” Henrik started to ask.

“I heard that Ash lost, so I made them a prize,” Jane replied seriously, “They’re a winner in my eyes, sir, and I’m betting they’re one in yours too.”

Henrik stayed quiet and then held out his hand.

“Give me the medal.” He ordered.

Jane clutched his handiwork carefully, eyeing Henrik before he dared hand it over.

“Why?” Jane asked slowly.

Henrik responded by pulling his marker out of his apron pocket.

“I want to write my own congratulations,” Henrik said, “On the back, of course.  I wouldn’t want to mess up any of your ’encouragements’.”

Satisfied by Henrik’s answer, Jane handed the medal over and watched as Henrik carefully wrote something on the back, waved it gently to encourage drying, and then handed it back to the man.

“Wait a moment.  Ash is working on the board right now, so please wait ‘til they’re done,’ Henrik said, capping his marker, “After that, you’re welcome to hand it over, Jane.”

Turning on his heel, Henrik strode back out into the front room, leaving Jane in the back.  He immediately scanned the area for customers, making sure there were none needing to be served, before he checked on Ash.  

They were humming happily, making the board look festive, as well as informative.  A reindeer that seemed to have a cold, at least that what it’s red nose looked like to Henrik, was poking out of one corner, wearing a scarf, and the edges of the board had been decorated with chalk ribbon and lights.  It looked like the board had been quite festivized. 

“Good job, Ash,” Henrik said, turning to smile at a couple that just walked into the shop.  Jane popped out of the back, the medal tucked into his apron, and joined Henrik in helping out the couple.

After they were served, both wanting pumpkin spice lattes as per the seasonal norm, Ash stepped down from the stool. They ran around the counter, looking to see how their work looked from a distance.  Smiling, they pulled out their phone and snapped a picture.

“What do you think?” Ash said.

“I think it looks fantastic.  I especially like the reindeer.” He replied.

“”I like Rudolph too,” Ash said, looking to see Henrik knitting his brows together, “You know who Rudolph is, right?  Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?”

“Oh, yes, I remember that song.” Henrik said, “So you like Rudolph?”

“Mmm hmm.  ‘Cause, like, he’s different, he’s different from the others, but they learn to accept him too, even if he’s got a bright red nose on his face,” Ash said, “He’s an outcast for a while, but then the other reindeer learn to accept him for who he is.  I like that story a lot.”

“I can tell,” Henrik said, “Ash, do you have a moment?  Jane has something to give you.”

“Oh?” Ash said, eyeing Jane, “What’cha got, Jane?”

Jane marched over, his long strides meaning few steps were needed, and he thrust his medal out towards Ash.  They flinched back at first, their eyes shut tight, but when they cracked them open to take a peek at what Jane was holding.

“What’s that-?” They started to ask, taking the object into their hands, “Best coffee art hippie award?  Did you make a prize for me?”

“It’s a medal, tree hippie kid,” Jane said gruffly, “Because you damn well deserve one for your hippie coffee pictures.”

The surprised look on Ash’s face soon turned into a joy-filled smile.  They held the medal up by its “chain” looking over the object as it gently swung and swayed. It was then that Ash noticed that there was writing on the other side as well, and the gently grabbed on to the medal so they could look at it.

“…’You can’t have a rainbow without a little rain’?” They read slowly, “That’s what it says, right?”

“Of course that’s what it says,” Henrik said, focusing excessively on wiping the counter.

“I- Uh.  You wrote that?  Thanks,” They said, “Your handwriting’s kinda messy, Henrik sir.  Looks like a doctor’s handwriting.”

“What does my handwriting look like?” Jane asked.

“Yours looks like…a very… ‘friendly’ handwriting,” Ash decided, looking over the kiddish scribbles, “But with some authoritative power behind it.”

That was the right answer to Jane.  With a nod, and a want to cut short the niceties,Jane went back to work, any prior emotion wiped clean for a face ready to focus on work.

Ash, grinning, slipped the medal on over their head and then tucked it under their apron to keep it safe and out of sight.

“Thanks, Jane,” They said, despite the man already occupying himself with something else.

“You’re welcome, hippie,” Jane said, his tone implying that was the end of the discussion.  With the late afternoon crowd coming in, the time for talk had been used up and it was time to get back to work.

Jane’s shift came to an end not too long after the “awards ceremony” had taken place.  As he announced his good bye, Ash loudly thanked him, taking advantage of the lack of the customers for the moment to make sure that Jane heard them for sure this time.

“I haven’t heard about how the job Dell was offering you was panning out,” Henrik saidto Ash, “How’s that going?”

“Oh, Mr. Conagher?  It’s going alright,” Ash said, “We worked out what he wants done on the wall.  I was going to work on it later this week, but I got a call saying that it’s got some holes in it now, so I’ve gotta wait a couple days for him to patch it up and get it ready again.  So I’ve still got the job, it’s just kinda on hold right now.”

“Oh, well, that’ something.” Henrik said.

“Yeah.  I don’t mind waiting.  Mr. Conagher’s a really nice guy.” Ash said, “You know, thinking back, I think he was checking up on me while we talked.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Henrik replied, “He’s that type of person.  What’d he ask you?”

“Just asked how I’ve been, asking about about my work, my art,” Ash said, “He gave me a chance to talk about so much, and it was so nice to take advantage of it, you know?  It felt good to talk to him.”

“It usually does.” Henrik said, “He’s a good man.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Ash said, “He also asked me what I wanted for Christmas.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“Said I wasn’t sure.  I can always use paint or pens, the good ones for inking, but I don’t have much that I want right now,” Ash said with a shrug, “I mean, I got some things I want, but Santa can’t bring those, even with Rudolph.”

“Ah.” Henrik said, sensing the need for a subject change, “Do you have any plans for Christmas yet, Ash?”

“Me?” Ash asked, “I don’t know.  Hoping to spend it at home with someone special.”

“Mundy?”

Ash froze, a slight blush decorating their face.

“I was actually thinking about Balloonicorn, because I was going to spend the day working on my comic,” Ash confessed, “I might have to rethink that and give Mundy a lil’ bit of time too.”

“Going to decorate for Christmas?”

“Might some stuff up, like some garland and glittery stuff, whatever Mundy will let me. Maybe some mistletoe too-” Ash said, immediately biting their lip and cutting their sentence off, “What about you, Henrik, sir?”

“Don’t know.  I don’t normally do a lot.  Birds like to knock things down,” Henrik said, “Sometimes the birds are like cats with wings.  Don’t see the point in putting anything up really.”

“Oh.” Ash said, “Not even mistletoe?”

“I love my birds very much, and I do kiss them on the head sometimes, but I don’t see the point of putting that up.”

“Wasn’t thinking for the birds, Henrik sir.”

Henrik paused.

“You were thinking about Misha?”

“I didn’t say that, you did,” Ash pointed out.

“I’m uncertain about forcing something as physical as a kiss on someone just because some old holiday law created by the Norsemen dictates that you should,” Henrik said, “Same as pinching someone for not wearing green on Saint Patrick’s day.  Ridiculous stuff.”

“Bet you’re a hoot at parties, huh?” Ash said, resting their head in their hand “Don’t you wanna kiss him?”

Henrik, hoping to defuse this conversation before it grew any more, maturely threw the question back into their face.  If he had to embarrass them to get them to stop talking, then so be it.  

“Do you want to kiss Mundy?”

“Yes.” Ash replied immediately, “And I already kinda did.  On the cheek.  On the mouth’s just a couple centimeters over. Wouldn’t mind it at all… You don’t wanna kiss Mr. Misha?”

“I…I don’t mind kissing, no, but…I’m not one for kissing on a first date,” Henrik replied, feeling a mite bit uncomfortable, “Besides, kissing can lead to a want for other things and it’s too soon for that and…Nnn.”

Ash watched Henrik carefully, tilting their head a bit as they looked over at him.

“Henrik, sir, are you Ace?”

Henrik looked over at them , confusion written all over his face.

“Are you picking up slang from Mundy?”

“Slang from-?  No, no.  I mean, you are a - how would Mundy say it? - ‘roight aice blowk, ‘enreck’ - oh, that sounded terrible, -but I mean Ace.  Like Asexual.”

“Meaning?”

‘Ya’ don’t like…you know…doing the sex,” Ash said nervously, “And, like, there’s not a problem with that.  I was just wondering.”

“Are we really doing this?” Henrik asked tiredly, “Discussing my sex life, or lack thereof?”

“Are you?” Ash asked persistently.

“No, I suppose not.  Not if the definition is not wanting to ‘do the sex,” Henrik said, suddenly needing a find something, a pen, that worked, out of his bag.  Anything so that he could try to ignore the conversation being forced on him.

“Gray Ace?” Ash asked gently.

“What is it with you and Scout calling me  _ old _ ?” He asked exasperatedly.

“Old?  No.  No, Henrik sir, that’s not what I meant,” Ash said quickly, “It’s like someone who doesn’t  _ need  _ or  _ want  _ sex, but is okay with it, if you wanna put it in the most general way.  The whole thing’s kinda complicated, to be honest.  There’s a lot of shades of gray to the whole thing.”

“Not that either, I suppose.  If you really care to know, since you’re being so insistent, I can want it, but it’s got to be with the right person, ” Henrik said, reading a receipt that he found in his bag, apparently finding the phone number at the bottom so completely fascinating  “I just prefer to be close before I even feel attracted to someone.  I have to be.”

“Demi.” Ash decided.

“What did you call me?  A dummy?” Henrik asked with a sharp turn of his head, “Did you just call me  _ stupid? _ ”

“What?  No, no, I said ‘demi’, like demisexual.  Not dummy,” Ash explained quickly, “It means that you’ve gotta be really close to someone before you can feel sexual attraction, not the other way ‘round, like you need an emotional bond first, and it’s really kinda sweet, and please don’t be angry…Does, uh…Does demi sound like you?”

Henrik stayed quiet, not responding, merely fishing through his bag to waste time.  When he did finally speak again, it was quiet, and it was short, but it was at least a word if nothing else.

“Maybe.” The word was spoken just barely above a whisper.

Ash didn’t press any further.  Something told them that they had pressed a button or two too many, so they stayed silent.  It was an uncomfortable silence, but they were both sort of okay with it.  At least Henrik was.  

Ash, however, was starting to panic the longer the silence held fast.  They began to worry for their friendly relationship with their manager, for Henrik, for their job, for their income, and, most importantly, their relationship with their manager.

A customer came in, and Ash moved to fill the order, greeting the man with a smile.  A pumpkin spice latte was requested, and Ash turned their back to start making the drink.  Henrik glanced over to make sure that Ash was creating the drink correctly, and he saw the way their hand was trembling, how their breathing was uneasy, a look of fear in their eyes.

After the customer was sent on their way, Henrik softly walked over to Ash, waiting until the till drawer was shut to speak.

“I’m not angry.” He said.

“You aren’t?” Ash asked quietly, not turning around.

“No.” Henrik said, leaning against the back counter, watching them, “I suppose I can appreciate the attempt at a…diagnosis for this…mnn, problem.”

“It’s not a problem, sir.  Don’t look at it like that.  It’s just part of you,” Ash said, “Just because it’s seen as not normal doesn’t mean it’s wrong or a problem.“

“…Like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?” Henrik asked slowly.  His words helped calm Ash a bit, lowering their hunched shoulders down to a reasonable position.

“Yeah. Just like Rudolph ” They said, teary relief filling their voice, “I’m not getting fired, am I?”

“No.  Ash, no,” Henrik said, “As long as this building stands, and as long as you keep working hard, I will do my best to make sure you can have a job here.  As long as you want one, anyway.  I’m nearly the half-owner, so I can nearly half-guarantee it.”

“Oh, thank you. I love working here,” Ash said, finding comfort in Henrik’s half-promise, finally turning to glance back at Henrik with their slightly red eyes,  “Everyone’s so nice and wonderful…I love my job here so  _ so  _ much.”

“You’re a wonderful employee, I’m glad to have you here as well.” 

“Are you going to look up anything about, uh, demis?” Ash asked slowly.

“Perhaps I will,” Henrik said, lying through his teeth.

He wasn’t going to.

“You’re not going to,” Ash said, looking up at him with their damp eyes, “But it’s okay.  You don’t have to.  Just remember that it’s okay to be you, okay?”

The words that were supposed to encourage Henrik seemed to set off another, emotional flow of tears from Ash.   He got the feeling that what they had just told him was something that they themselves wanted to hear more in their life.  He’d be sure to remember that.

“Do you need to take a minute?” Henrik asked gently, wanting to help calm them down.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Ash said, moving to step out from behind the counter, “I’m gonna go splash my face in the bathroom real quick.  I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Henrik said, stepping forward to manage the front, “Be quick, though.”

“I will.”

While Ash was in the bathroom, Scout showed up for his shift, peering around as soon as he stepped in.

“Did you and Ash get into a fight too?” He asked, in lieu of a proper greeting for his manager.

“Hello to you too, Scout,” Henrik said, “No.  We had a discussion about…I’m actually not sure what.”

“Bet that made you seem like a real conversationaslist, not knowing what you’re talking about,” Scout replied, dusting the snow off of his sports coat, “How’s today been?”

“Today’s been alright.  My co-workers have been fairly sassy, but other than that it’s been alright,” Henrik said, “Well, except that I’ve made the exact same drink seventy-two times today.”

“The pumpkin spice apocalypse starting to get to ya’?” Scout asked with a grin.

“Dear Lord, make it stop,” Henrik replied tiredly.

“Tell ya’ what.  I’ll make the P.S.L. orders for the rest of the night,” Scout offered, “You don’t gotta make another one tonight.”

“I might take you up on that,” Henrik said tiredly, “It’s getting ridiculous.”

“Hey, man, I get that.  Be ready for it to last another three-” Scout stopped as Ash emerged from the bathroom,“Hey, Ash.  How was that competition?”

“I lost,” They said with a smile, missing how Henrik was trying to mime that Scout needed to stop right there with those questions, “How was your day?”

“Got in a fight with Jules.  Helped my mom decorate some cakes.  Got to eat some frosting.  Worked out as best I can in this weather,,” Scout paused, weighing the goods and bads of the day, “Ehhh, it was alright.”

“You help her decorate cakes?” Henrik asked.

“Hey, I make a mean petaled flower,” Scout countered, “Yeah, I help her decorate sometimes, when it gets busy, what’s it to ya’?”

“I bet they look yummy delicious,” Ash said.

“They do,” Scout said, “Man, I was a chunky kid ‘cause there was always a cake or a pie in the house.  Combine a sweet tooth with a kid’s lack of willpower and you can see my problem.”

“Can’t see your problem anymore, Scout,” Henrik said, “You’re like a rail.”

“I workout a lot.  As much as I can, anyway.” Scout said with a shrug, “Not going to be able to workout as much, or as easily, ‘cause it’s getting icy.  This is usually a quiet time for my biz.”

“The training business you have, you mean?” Henrik asked.

“Yeah. that one,” Scout said with a nod, moving to put his stuff down behind the counter, “If you can call it that, I guess.”

“What do you do?” Ash asked.

“Athletic training, kinda,” Scout said, “I just call it that so I sound important.  Right now what I do is I help kiddos out.  Help ‘em with form and stuff.  Assistant coach sometimes, I guess. My old coach recommended me ta’ some of the different kiddo league coaches, so I got called in to help ‘em with some stuff.  Might start helping with some B-Ball kids soon too.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Ash said, “I was kinda hoping that your training had something to do with cakes, but exercise stuff is cool too.”

“I wish that other people thought that; I’ve had a couple people tell me that it’s not a field I should be trying to get into.  Anyway, my mom would the one you’d ask for cake stuff,” Scout said, with a laugh, “She loves to teach and talk about her work.  I think you two’d get along.”

“…Do you?” Ash asked quietly, “Do you think your mom would like me?”

“Hell yeah,” He said, “As long as you aren’t a jerk, or trying to get free food, I’m the only one allowed to try ta’ get free food, you’re cool in her book.”

“Maybe I’ll get to meet her sometimes,” Ash commented.

“Yeah, sure.  You should drop by the biz sometime.  I’ll hook you up with a cupcake or something,” Scout told them, “Hey, Hen, you’ve met my mom, right?”

“Yes, I have.  I believe we’ve really only talked a few times.  One of them being when you were applying here,” Henrik said, “It felt like she was interrogating me, to be honest.”

“She probably was,” Scout said, “She likes ya’ better now.”

“That’s good.  I would have hated to invoke her wrath.”

“Mothers are scary when they’re angry,” Ash said quietly.

“I would love to talk more about angry mothers, or just mothers in general, but I must insist you two get to work now,” Henrik said, “Scout, you watch the counter, Ash, you’re up here with him, I need to go do the inventory.”

Both of the younger employees watched as Henrik disappeared into the back room.  The minute the doors shut behind him, they looked over at each, a smile on both their faces.

“Do you think he’s thinking about Misha?” Ash asked quietly.

“Him?” Scout asked, “Nah.  He’s probably thinkin’ about coffee stuff.”

“Really?” Ash asked, disappointed.

“I’ve worked him for a couple months.  He’s got a pretty one track mind.  Well, kinda...” Scout said, “Like, he can keep track of a million things, but only if they have to do with work, you know?”

“So he’s got a one topic mind?”

“Yeah,” Scout said, “That sounds good.  That sounds like Hen.”

Their conversation was cut off as a group of five customers came in.  Making the drinks was slowed down by the fact they all wanted the same drink; a pumpkin spice latte.

Soon after Henrik reappeared from the back, clipboard in hand, it was time for Ash’s shift to be over.

“Henrik, sir,” They said to get his attention, backpack already on their shoulder, “I am leaving the store now!”

Henrik couldn’t help but grin as he watched Ash march out of the shop, obviously imitating their other coworker.

“Goodbye, Ash,” He said as he watched them leave, the door swinging shut behind them, “What a colorful person.”

“They imitate me when I’m not here?” Scout asked hopefully.

“I’m afraid not.  Not that I’ve seen.”

“Aw, damn,” Scout said, “Maybe they’ve realized that I’m too cool to try to imitate.”

“That must be it,” Henrik said flatly, “Scout, did you take any orders while I was in the back?”

“Yup.  Five Pumpkin Spices.  Two med,  three large”

“I cannot wait until the time for that drink is over.”

“Me too.” Scout said, “It can’t come soon enough, and I just got here.”

Henrik laughed.  It wasn’t a joyful laugh.  It was more a tired, defeated, sarcastic one.

“Hey, man, I understand,” Scout said, “Need me to make you something while you go over the numbers?”

“Would you?” Henrik asked.

“Kinda my job, Hen,” Scout replied, hand moving down near the cups, “What’cha want?”

“Green tea.  Small.”

“Anything else with that?”

“...No, I don’t think so.”

“No sugar?” Scout asked, “How do you drink it without sugar?”

“Well, same way I would normally.  I pick the cup up and then tilt it back to pour the liquid into-”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Scout said, holding up a hand in defeat, “You must be in a good mood.  You’re being happy sarcastic.”

“Happy sarcastic?” Henrik asked.

“Yeah.  When you’re in a bad mood, you get snippy sarcastic.” Scout explained.

“You sound like Ash when you talk like that.”

“Is that a good thing?” Scout asked.

“...I don’t see why not,” Henrik said after a brief pause, “It doesn’t sound like you, though.  That’s all.”

“Hey, Hen,” Scout asked, “Why are you in such a good mood?”

“Hmm?” Henrik asked, working on 

“I said why are you in such a good mood?  Can’t be the Pumpkin Spice bombardment that’s got you smiling,” Scout asked, “Are you thinking about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Henrik asked idly, busy attempting to do some math in his head, “What happens tomorrow?”

“Your date?” Scout reminded him, “Your date with the big ol’ Russian guy you’ve been flirting with for months?  Remember him?”

“I have not been flirting,” Henrik replied flatly.

“You think the big guy knew that?”

Henrik frowned, putting his pen down as he looked over at his co-worker.

“Scout, is my tea ready?”

“Whoa, if I didn’t know better, I woulda’ thought that was a subject change,” Scout said as he walked out from behind the counter, tea in hand, “Here’s your tea, as green and unsugared as ever.  Enjoy.”

“I plan to,” Henrik replied, “If my work will let me.”

“Don’t you ever stop working?” Scout asked.

“No.” Henrik replied simply, “Why stop when there are things to do?”

“To enjoy life?”

“I enjoy my job,” Henrik countered.

“That’s different,” Scout said, “Enjoyin’ your job is good, only livin’ in your job isn’t.  Ya’ need ta’ take a break every now and then.”

“I will take a break, Scout.  But only when there’s no more work to be done,” Henrik said, starting to stand up, “I need to go count the lids.  I hate counting the lids.”

“Don’t they come in packs with, you know, the numbers on ‘em?”

“They do, but Jane wants to use the first lid out of every pack, and pulls his resupply from the first open pack he sees, then it’s harder to keep track,” Henrik sighed, “Keep an eye on the front, Scout, let me know if you need me.”

“Hey, uh, Hen, would it be okay if I made myself a drink?”

“What do you want?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“That’s fine,” Henrik said as he disappeared into the back, “Go ahead.  Wait until it cools before you drink it, please.  And for the love of all that’s holy, keep an eye on it so the water doesn’t boil over again.”

Scout hung around the front, making himself a bomb-ass hot chocolate, one that nearly  _ only  _ boiled over before he caught it, with a decent amount of whipped cream that melted immediately. It hadn’t been an obnoxious amount, he wouldn’t do that to Henrik, but it was enough to satisfy his sweet tooth.  It had just been the perfect amount.

As soon as his drink was done, a man walked into the shop.  A big, tough, burly, old-looking guy.  Now, Scout could forgive that handkerchief around his head, but wearing dark-tinted goggles as night?  Who did this guy think he was?  Mr cool-hotshot?  Not even Corey Hart could pull off that look.

“Can I help you?” Scout asked with a smile, a stark counter to the man’s frown, hoping this customer would be easy and fast.  Scout’s hot chocolate was sitting right there, teasing him, calling his name, and he really wanted to drink it soon before it cooled off.  

Maybe it was a good thing a customer showed up so he didn’t burn himself on the drink again.  Henrik would get mad if he did. 

“Do you have a manager named ‘Henrik’?” The man asked in a low growl.

“Uh...why?” Scout asked slowly, his eyes taking a nervous side glance towards the backroom door.

“Is that a yes?” The man asked, stepping closer to the counter.

“It was a why,” Scout said, standing up straighter.

“He’s in the back, isn’t he?” The way the man’s lip curled into a sneer started to make the young barista worry.  The way his hand was sliding onto the counter also worried the kid.  

Was he about to get robbed?  He had never gotten robbed before.  What was he supposed to do if he got robbed?  What could he do?  How could he fight back?  Should he fight back?  

He had taken kung fu when he was younger, like six, so if nothing else he had that.  Of course, having that as his only option was basically like having nothing else.  

Dear God, he hoped that nothing terrible happened tonight.  He didn’t want his ma to cry like that again.

“Listen, dude, if you want me to answer any of your questions, then you gotta answer some of mine,” Scout said, more bravery in his voice than he felt was to be found in his body.

“I’d like to speak to your manager,” The man said flatly.

Normally, Scout would be happy to pass a tough customer on to Henrik.  Dealing with the shitheads was the man’s job.  Something about this guy, and the way he was looking for Henrik, made him think that maybe letting him know that Henrik was in the back wasn’t such a great idea.

“Hey, listen, I’m supposed to help you as much as I can,” Scout said, “So give me a chance here, would ya’?”

“I’m giving you ten seconds to get your manager, you snot-nosed punk, before I wipe the floor with your smug face.” The man growled, “That’s your only  _ fucking  _ warning.”

“I, uh-” Scout held up a finger as if he was about to declare something profound, but found himself at a loss for words, “I-...You really, really,  _ really  _ shouldn’t do tha-”

Apparently the man had been counting down the time while Scout chattered on.  Before the boy could finish his sentence, he was yanked forward by his collar.  The glass tip jar smashed onto the floor, colliding with Scout’s leg as the boy went over the counter, shattering into hundreds of small pieces.

Not that the boy was in much better condition.  Though he was happy he wasn’t falling apart to pieces like the jar had, he was bent back against the counter, a thick hand was wrapped around his neck keeping him down.  The man was bulked up enough that all he needed to keep Scout pinned was his arm, forearm pressing down on Scout’s chest, and his leg, which he placed between Scout’s so the boy couldn’t get any leverage.

“Call for for your manager now,” The man said, a proud, cocky grin on his face as he watched the kid’s hat drop to the floor, “I think we both need him, don’t you?”

“Hen!” Scout called out hoarsely, his voice desperate as the grip around his neck began getting tighter, “Hen!”

Henrik had been up to either one hundred and thirty-four lids, or one hundred and forty-three.  The minute that Scout called for him, he lost count.  His focus wasn’t on the lids, though, they could be counted again.

Scout, however, had never once yelled for him like that before.  He was racing out the backroom doors in a heartbeat to go see what had Scout shouting for him.

The sight he was greeted with wasn’t a pleasant one.  Tyrus was smirking, already watching the doors to see when Henrik emerged from the backroom.  Scout’s face was getting redder as his air slowly ran out.

“Tyrus,” Henrik said with a tense stare, “Let the boy go.”

“I don’t know.  Will I still have your attention if I do?” Tyrus said, “Because we have some important things to talk about.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” Henrik said, taking a slow step closer, “Let him go, Tyrus.”

“We’re not going to have much to talk about if all you keep saying ‘let him go’,” Tyrus said, savouring the feeling of power he had right now enough that he could ignore Scout’s fidgeting, “But, keep saying my name, Henrik.  It fits well on your lips.”

Scout had been searching the counter, feeling around for something, anything he could use to help himself out.  He found a glass sugar container and wrapped his tight around it.  Now wasn’t the time to use it.  There would be an opportunity.  At least he hoped there would be.

“We have nothing to talk about.  Leave the store,” Henrik ordered, making sure to omit the man’s name from his words.

“Leave?  Already?  Why, Henrik, I’ve only just gotten here,” Tyrus said with a shrug, “Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you?  I had to... _ interrogate _ the Double Shot manager to find you.  There are too many damn coffee shop’s in this city.”

“Clearly, there aren’t enough,” Henrik said, mind racing as he tried to figure out how to handle this, “What do you want?”

“Oh, a couple of things.  First, I need you to make up for ditching me and making me wreck my car, in case you forgot about that,” Tyrus said, “I just got my bike out of the shop, and then you put my car in.  You owe me for that.”

“How much do you want?” Henrik asked.  If money was all the man wanted, then he’d gladly any amount he could to get him off Scout.

“Money’s not what I’m after.  Money’s easy to come by,” Tyrus said, “You’ve got spark, fight, I like that.  Kinda reminds me of a guy I used to know, but he’s gone now.  You look good, got a nice face, and the accent’s nice too.”

“What are you saying?” Henrik asked, taken aback.  

He felt dirty, ill, when this man talked about him like this.  It wasn’t like when Misha complimented him.  When Misha did it, it was sweet, sincere, a genuine compliment.  The words out this man’s mouth were slimy, slick, more like he was appraising than complimenting.

And Henrik didn’t like it one bit.  The more the man looked him over, the angrier Henrik felt.

Before he was aware what he was doing, he was stepping closer to Tyrus, hands clenched into fists.

“Let him go,” Henrik growled, shoulders squared up.  Standing up straight, he was nearly the same height as Tyrus, almost taller even since Tyrus was bent slightly to keep Scout pinned.

Scout tensed up, sensing an opportunity approaching, inching closer and closer.  With the sugar pourer clasped tightly in his hand, he waited for the perfect opportunity to use it.  He was only going to get one shot with it, after all.

“So the little coffee shop manager wants to fight to save his even littler co-worker?  Is that it?” Tyrus asked with a confident smirk, turning to look at Henrik, “How cute.  What’s next?  You two going to make friendship bracele-”

Tyrus was cut off when a heavy glass container was smashed against the side of his face, courtesy of Scout, bestowing upon him some well earned cuts and gashes.

Cursing, he let Scout go, and the boy scrambled as best he could back behind Henrik, stumbling slightly as he gasped for air.

“Are you okay?” Hernrik asked quickly.

“Am I in trouble?” Scout asked at the same time.

“No, you’re fine,” Henrik replied, watching as Tyrus started to glare at them.

“Okay.  Then I’m okay,” Scout answered quickly, looking for some other item to use in the apparently coming fight.

“Get behind the counter, or to the backroom, and get to one of the phones,” Henrik said quickly, watching Tyrus start to stand back up, “Call the police.  Go.”

“Uh, holy shit, this is-” Scout grabbed the phone and moved only to behind the counter.  He wasn’t going to leave Henrik out in the front room all by himself, no way.  That Tyrus guy was scary.  How he knew Henrik, Scout had no idea.

 

“I got this, I got it, Hen,” Scout called out, slipping as he ran behind the counter, “You just...keep staying alive over there.”

Henrik didn’t respond as Tyrus started stalking towards him, instead reaching back around to grab a chair.  

Was grabbing a chair to fight with in an apparent fist-fight dirty?  Yes.

Did Henrik care?  Not one bit.

Normally, fighting with the customers was frowned upon, punishable even.  Given that how he knew Tyrus was a threat, and how he had assaulted a worker, Henrik felt that, in this case, violence could be forgiven.

When Tyrus swung a punch at him, Henrik swung the chair at him, breaking it but knocking the man back with a loud “oof!”.  That sound was music to Henrik’s ears, at least it would be if he could hear over the blood pounding through them.

Good God, this wasn’t how he expected his night to go.  He’d rather be counting lids.

“Yeah?  911?” Scout said into the phone, “Yup, it’s an emergency.  A man just tried to strangle me and now he’s fighting with my manager.  Uh huh.  Uh huh.  Ambulance?  Sure, why not.   Yup, you got it.  That’s the address, yeah-”

“Scout, duck!” Henrik called out, as Tyrus threw a piece of the chair over at Scout.  That punk was going to ruin everything if he kept talking on the phone to the cops.

Scout did duck, heeding Henrik’s words, the wood splintering into pieces as it struck the wall.

“Oh, I’m fine.  Yeah, it’d be really good if you can get someone over here soon-” Scout said, as he peeked back up, pausing as he saw what Tyrus had grabbed, “...That’s a table-”

Scout threw himself to the side as one of the shop’s tables - tossed by Tyrus, crashed against the slamming down against where he had just been,  Now that was a close one.

“Nah, I’m fine.  A table almost landed on me, but I moved.  Hey, are you single?” Scout asked, “Why?  You’re asking me ta’ stay on the line, I figured you wanted to get to know- Oh!  Oh, wait, hold on, Vana.  Bad, bad, bad.”

Scout saw that Tyrus had gotten closer to Henrik beginning a grappling fight with him.  When it came to a fight of strength, Henrik was strong, but Tyrus was all muscle.  If this were to continue, then Henrik was sure to lose.  

Thinking quickly, and ignoring the hot-sounding lady on the phone, Scout picked up a whipped cream maker - a stainless steel one - and checked on Henrik again.  

Fighting back with all he had, Henrik had managed to get enough, though slim, distance between them.  Henrik had let go, moving quickly, and swung an arm up between them and clobbered Tyrus right in the chin, stunning the man long enough that he was able to push him away further and have a second to breath.  

It had been a long time since he had been in a fight this physical, but Henrik was going to win.  He had to.  Losing was not an option, though stalling for time was.  All he had to do was keep lasting.

“Henrik, catch!” Scout yelled, making sure he had his manager’s attention before he tossed the heavy, metal, whipped cream maker his way.  It wouldn’t do him any good to stun his manager, after all.

Grabbing the object as it was tossed to him, Henrik wasted no time in beaning Tyrus with it.  The manager managed to get three quick hits in before he was sucker punched by Tyrus, causing him to drop the item.

Scout dashed out from behind the counter, disappearing into the backroom to snatch the mop, brandishing it as he came racing back out as fast he could.  

Tyrus had grabbed the back of Henrik’s shirt, and the back of his head, and he was trying his hardest to smash the man’s cranium against the nearest flat surface; the hard front counter.  Sometimes he succeeded in forcing Henrik’s head against it, cracking his new pair of glasses, sometimes the man managed to struggle enough to stop short of colliding with it.  More and more, though, Henrik was losing.

Mop in hand, Scout slipped around behind Tyrus, making sure the wooden handle of the mop had a sharp collision with the side of Tyrus’ head.  Before the man could turn around to go after Scout, he gave a hard swing and hit Tyrus smack in the legs, unbalancing the man enough that Henrik, and his bloody, bruised head, could get out from under Tyrus’ powerful grip.  

Tyrus was stunned, and he took a step back as he fought to see straight again.  

This step back gave Henrik the few seconds he needed to wheel around and face Tyrus, ready to get a strong, well deserved, blow in.

His own shop rules be damned, he was defending his turf, his employee, his business, his life.  He could break a few rules.

When his vision cleared, Tyrus was able to see Henrik’s fist perfectly the moment before it plowed into his face and knocked him back off his feet.

Henrik swung with all his strength, determined to protect all that mattered to him from this man, his punch connecting solidly into Tyrus’ face.  There was a loud crack, a loud grunt, and blood running down Henrik’s arm, both his and Tyrus’.

It felt so good to Henrik, punching the man’s smug mouth in.  It hurt his hand, it hurt it a lot, but it felt good to at least return some of that pain that Tyrus had put him through.

The Goliath fell, landing flat on his back.  Blood ran down his nose, and it was only with a groan that he started to pick himself up.  

Henrik wouldn’t kick a man while he was down, it was against his morals, but if Tyrus stood up again he was ready to put him back onto the floor. 

Scout took the quiet to relax and go behind the counter, picking up his still-hot drink with his shaking hand to maybe  take a sip.  His throat was parched now, thanks to all the action, and he was glad this whole fight seemed to be over, even if his drink was too hot to slake his thirst .

However, the fight did indeed only  _ seem  _ to be over, as it was not yet done.

The bell on the door jingled, barely giving Henrik any time to react,  as an old woman ran into the building.  She blindsided Henrik, nailing him in the side, and the side of his head, knocking the manager down.  It seemed she wanted to pick up the fight where Tyrus had left off and do more damage than him.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to respect your elders?” She hissed, pulling her leather motorcycle gloves on tighter as she prepared for a fight.

“I think the elders here need to learn some respect first,” Scout said, goading the woman so that Henrik had a minute to recover.  That lady had walloped the poor German pretty good.

His taunt worked to get her attention off of Henrik.  

It worked too well, in fact.  

The woman began stomping over towards Scout, moving faster than he expected.  She was on him before he could even put his drink down, her fist raised to apparently “teach him some respect”.

Scout pulled his arms up, whipping into the only “self defense” he knew, shutting his eyes tight as he waited for the hit to connect.

His defense seemed to work better than he thought too.  Instead of getting hit, he heard the woman screaming.

Confused, Scout slowly opened one eye, in case this was a trick of some sort.  When he saw what had happened, he quickly took a step back away, eyes wide as he tried to process what had just happened.

The old woman’s hands grabbed at her face, and she had begun stumbling back, over, away.  Scout’s hot drink dripped down of her face, the source of her pain and screams having been discovered via a sudden, burning, hot chocolate facial.

Her screams helped startle Tyrus out of his daze.

“Bea?” He asked, his mind taking a moment to process what was going on with her, “Bea!”

He was by her side in a moment, keeping an eye on Henrik and Scout, making sure they didn’t attempt to attack while he and Bea were distracted.  He offered her his shirt to dry her face, and she took it, wiping the drink off with sounds of pain coming out of her.

Sirens started to blare in the distance, signalling that help was soon coming to the shop.  The sirens were the sound of coming help for Henrik and Scout, anyway.  

To Tyrus and Bea, it spelled trouble.

“We have to go,” He told her, wrapping an arm around to guide her quickly towards the door.  They were careful to step around Henrik, who was still kneeling dazed on the floor, who could only watch them leave.

Before they stepped out the door, Bea looked up, marks of red already growing on her wrinkled face.

“You will pay for this,” She warned, fire in her eyes.

If Henrik or Scout had wanted to ask for a clarification, of who or what, or a date of when someone would pay, they couldn’t have.  Bea was out the door, Tyrus right by her side in less than a moment. He hooked a leg over the bike, taking the keys from her, and, with a roar from the engine, the two of them were gone before you could blink.

Soon after, the police showed up.  There wasn’t much they could do, other than take reports, interview Henrik and Scout, and survey the damage.  

The cops that showed up seemed to know who they were talking about by the descriptions the workers gave.  A gang of older motorcyclists, that had been together for years now and thought themselves better than any other, that called themselves “The Classics”.

After all was said and done, which took awhile, the police left, saying that they’d follow up later if they had anything.  After Henrik repeatedly turned down medical help for his bloody self.  He had only agreed to be bandaged up and not put in the back of an ambulance, or death wagons as  he called them.  In the quiet, almost spooky, calm, a contrast to the fight and chaos that had taken place after, Henrik started to sweep the mess as best he could.  He’d have to close up soon, but it was for the best that he at least clean up some of the mess before he left.

“Guess we’re going to have to tell my mom about this, huh?” Scout said quietly to Henrik, once all the recent hubbub had finally died down enough for them to talk.

“I think you’d rather be the one to tell her, wouldn’t you?” Henrik replied tiredly, sweeping some glass up, “If she found out through other means, I’d imagine that it would hurt her trust in you.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Scout sighed, “I’m just worried that...You know how protective she can get.  I want to keep my job.”

“Do you think she’ll not let you come back?” Henrik asked, pausing to look over at Scout, “Is that your worry?”

“Yeah.” Scout said, “After dad died, she’s been really clingy.  She wants me to work with her, not out of her sight.  I had to fight to get this job at your shop.  This might be the thing she uses to shut me down.”

“I can’t say I blame her for being protective.  You’re her son, and she wants to protect you,” Henrik said, “I can vouch for you, if you want.  I can talk with her, try to reassure her that this is normally a safe job.  It has been for months.  Today was-...Today was strange, to say the least.”

“How do you know that guy?” Scout asked, pushing off of the counter, “He came in here asking for you by name-”

“I don’t-”

“And you knew his,” Scout said, now close enough to poke at Henrik, “Henrik, who was he?”

“I’m not entirely sure myself, Scout,” Henrik said as he leaned on the broom, holding a hand up when Scout tried to interrupt him, “I met him at the bar, when I went with Tavish and Jane, and he was harassing me there too.  Dell made him stop.”

“And this time you walloped him,” Scout pointed out, “Man, I bet that felt good.  How’s your hand?”

“Bruised.  At least it feels that way,” Henrik replied.

“Your head?”

“Bruised.  At least it feels that way.” Henrik said again.

“I can tell ya’ that your head’s bruised,” Scout said helpfully, “Okay, be honest, would you trade away the bruises?  You got to beat his ass.”

“I feel that both our asses were getting beaten.  It could have gone either way.  I probably would have lost,” Henrik said, “I’d rather that tonight have been calm, a normal night.  I’d trade the bruises for a night where nothing like this happened.  I’d rather have been counting lids.”

“You done with the inventory?” Scout asked.

“Yes.  Done enough.  I’ll recheck some numbers tomorrow and make orders then.” Henrik said, “I’ll have to redo some of the numbers now that things have been broken.”

“Like the sugar holder I smashed against the moron’s head?”

“Like the sugar holder that you smashed against the moron’s head,” Henrik confirmed, “I’ll need to get another one of those.”

“At least the whipped creamer’s not broken.”

“It is dented beyond use, though,” Henrik said, “It’s apparently not meant for self-defense.”

“You should write the company that, see if you can get a free one,” Scout said, “Ask ‘em to make one that’s better for bashing brains in.”

“I don’t believe beating people upside the head is to be found in the warranty, Scout.”

“Worth a shot, don’t you think?” Scout said, a tight smile on his face.  His joking demeanor seemed to be the only emotional cover-up he had, and it too was failing.

Henrik leaned back against a table, looking squarely at Scout.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“What?  Me?” His smile wobbled, “I’m-...I’m fine.  ‘Course I’m fine.  Why wouldn’t you think I’m fine?”

“Because I know you, Scout, and I’m here if you need to talk.” Henrik said.

“Are you?” Scout asked, “Are you really?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Henrik said, “Go on.  Tell me what’s on your mind.  I’m sure there’s a lot after what happened.”

“...That old woman,” Scout said slowly, “You think I hurt her too bad?  Like, I mean, I know that she hit you and that she was gonna hit me, but that was her  _ face. _  You never hit a lady’s face, an’ I just poured a hot drink all over hers.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t threatened you,” Henrik said, frowning, “You don’t need to feel too guilty about it.  She’ll be fine, Scout, don’t concern yourself about her.  If these “Classics” are as tough as the police implied, a hot drink isn’t going to do much.”

Actually, a hot drink could be quite damaging, especially in the facial region.  That was one of the reasons that Henrik made every employee go through a brief safety course, so they’d know what to do if a burning, hot drink hit anyone anywhere.

Was he going to remind Scout of that fact?  Nope.  The boy had enough to think about right now without worrying about one of their attackers.  The thought that he had possibly permanently damaged someone should not be shoved into his head.  Henrik would do what he could to coax the idea away from Scout’s thoughts.  If something like this happened again - though he hoped to God that this was the only incident ever - that Scout wouldn’t freeze up and think about this.

The boy was too young, had too much to live for, to have another incident to haunt him.

Whatever was going through Scout’s head now, whether Henrik’s words had helped him or not, he seemed to be a little more relieved.  At the very least, he was more relaxed, which was a lot to say after a situation like that.

“This much damage that bad?” Scout asked, stiffly bending down to get the dustpan Henrik had been filling with glass.

“I’ll get it, Scout.  Can you bring me the trash bag?” Henrik said, waving him away, “No, it could definitely have been worse.  A couple items broken isn’t that much of a problem, especially since they’re as small as this.  I’m glad the window’s still intact, that would have issue with opening tomorrow.”

“Yeah, and I bet replacing it would have been a  _ pane _ .” Scout said with a grin, “Get it?”

“It would have been an inconvenience, yes-” Henrik paused, “Oh, ha ha.  Very funny, Scout,  _ wunderbar.” _

“Wunderbar?  Or was it Win’derbar?”

“Scout,” Henrik scolded, fighting to stop the small smile on his face.  A grin would do nothing but encourage the boy to continue with his puns, “Stop that.”

“Why?  ‘Cause I’m being a  _ pane  _ in the  _ glass?”  _ Scout said, grinning once he saw a smile appear on Henrik’s face.  After that, there was no stopping him.  The dam of bad puns and jokes had been opened, and there was no stopping it now.  Everything from the window to the wall was getting punned about, and there was no stopping it.

At least, there was no stopping it until a car pulled up.  Scout’s smile fell when he realized that it was time for him to go home and talk about today.  His frown grew bigger when he realized that it was his step-father who had shown up to get him.

Hen, do I really gotta tell my folks about today?” Scout asked.

“Yes.”

“Everything?” 

“Well the gist at least,” Henrik said as he slipped the cash drawer into a bag, intending to count it later at his apartment, “You decide if you think that telling them that you glassed a man with a sugar container and hit him with a mop will make things better or worse for you.”

“Right, um, okay.  Let’s skip that part,” Scout said, packing his stuff up, “Might tell my mom some of the whole thing later, think she’d appreciate me glassin’ a guy, but don’t tell Jules everything.  He’ll just tell her before I get the chance to, and I don’ want that.”

“Alright.” Henrik said, getting his bag, “I won’t, Scout.”

“And, Hen?”

“Yes?” He replied tiredly.

“Are you really always gonna be there?” Scout asked, looking younger than ever as he searched Henrik with his eyes, looking for an answer.

Henrik stayed quiet.  Squinting as he looked over at Scout, he tried to read what the boy was asking, taking a long minute before he responded.

“I’ll certainly try my best.”

His answer was enough to satisfy Scout, and the boy shuffled out the door, holding it open as Henrik exited as well.

“What happened to you?” Julien asked the minute he got a clear look at Scout, “What happened to your neck?”

“Buffalo stampede.” Scout replied cooly.

“I’m serious.” Julien said.

“Hi, Serious, I’m Scout.”

“No, you’re-” Julien sighed, his eyes rolling heavenward, “Nevermind that.  Why is your neck bruised?  What happened to your manager’s face?”

“Hey, he’s lucky he still has a face after those rabid wolverines came out of, like, nowhere and gnawed at everything,” Scout said, “Be nice.”

“Scout,” Julien said slowly, grabbing on to Scout’s shoulder with his gloved hand, “What on Earth happened here tonight?”

“Pumpkin Spice Lattes,” Henrik interrupted, his non-sequitur somehow supposed to be serving as an answer, “Did Scout tell you that he might be able to work as a manager soon?”

“Pumpkin-” Julien squinted in confusion at Henrik, missing Scout’s look of panic, “ _ Non _ , he told me no such thing.”

“Oh, he’s not ready yet,” Henrik said, lying once again today for Scout’s sake, “But with some training, I’m not sure how much, he’ll be able to attempt the role.”

“That’s quite interesting, but it’s not what I asked-”

“Hey, Hen, do you need a ride home?” Scout said, “It’s starting to rain.”

“Scout, it’s only drizzling.  Please answer my-” Julien started.

“Oh, I’d love a ride,” Henrik said, “Mr. Durant, would it be alright if I rode with you for a bit?  I’m counting the money tonight, so I’d prefer it to walking.  I’d hate to get robbed.”

“You are missing a chair in your-” Julien tried again, trying to ignore a small guilty feeling in his stomach.  Henrik had probably meant nothing by that.  Probably.

“I call shotgun!” Scout said, scrambling for the front.

“That table is broken-” Julien interjected.

“I suppose that means I’m in the back.” Henrik said, moving to climb into the back.

“You face is bruised, Mr. Vogler-”

“Jules, that’s rude,” Scout said from the passenger seat, “You don’t just tell people that their faces are bruised.”

“Why won’t either of you say-” Julien huffed.

“I hope you don’t think me pushy, but I believe it’s for the best that people get home tonight.  It has been an awfully long day,” Henrik said, waiting until he had Julien’s attention to quietly add, “I do believe you’ll be able to find out more at home as well, Mr. Durant, perhaps you best find that out for sure.”

Sighing, Julien pulled out the keys and climbed into the front.  If he was going to get answers when he and Scout got back home, then there was no sense in wasting time here asking for them now.  Besides, he hardly could say that he didn’t have secrets of his own.  It was just a few nights ago, during his night interview, that the thief persona that had been plaguing the city had bought a train ticket and “skipped town”.  Most likely to never return.

The stealing had been fun, the cash a second bonus to the rush he got, but he knew it had to stop now before anyone was hurt worse.  Smoking was a bad enough habit, he didn’t need another one that could get him killed even sooner.

It was a slow recovery process.  When he heard that Scout could be a manager his first thought hadn’t been “congratulations”, or how proud he was, but rather about how that means Scout would be getting a key.  He’d have to start weening himself off of the rush if he wanted to be a good husband and father, and it had to start now.

The ride home was near silent.  Now that Scout and Henrik weren’t continually trying to change the subject, the two of them were quiet, drained by the events of the night. 

Henrik was dropped off at his apartment,and he bid Scout and Julien goodbye, mentally wishing the boy good luck, as he started the trek upstairs.  It felt like a long climb today, longer than it had been to get down them this morning.  Staggering up the last necessary step, and staggering over to his door, he unlocked it and breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped inside.

It felt so good to be back at his apartment.  So  _ so  _ good.

Now that he was back, everything was going to be okay for the rest of the night.  At least that was what Henrik hoped.

He dropped his bag down by the door, stripping off his apron as he walked, kicked off his shoes, and he unlocked the birds’ cage before he collapsed onto a chair, happy to just let his body rest for a while.

Closing his eyes, and leaning his head back, he was able to pretend that today hadn’t happened.  It was a nice feeling, denial.  If it would stay the night, and make it so he didn’t have to think about tonight until tomorrow, then he’d be happy.  He’d be so very happy.

He felt a soft tap on his face, and he opened his eyes to see one of his birds staring at him.

“Archimedes,” he said softly, making sure not to startle the bird, “How’s my girl?  Did you and the others get along today?”

Archimedes responded with a soft coo, nuzzling into a comfortable spot on his shoulder, right next to his neck.  A nice, warm spot to rest with her papa, if you asked her and also understood dove.

“Ah, silly girl.  Is that where you want to sit?” He asked, wincing as he reached up to pet the bird.  He was getting fairly sore now that the adrenaline from the fight was wearing off.  It was probably for the best that he get a small thing to eat, pop two aspirin, and get some sleep before it hurt too much to move.

Carefully, he started to stand up, giving the bird plenty of time to get a grip on his shirt, and headed to the kitchen.  What was something fast and easy to make, that didn’t require much prep or clean-up?...

It was decided, he was having cereal.

He pulled a box down from the cupboard, toasted oats and marshmallows, a guilty pleasure of his, and started to go get a bowl before he decided against it.  The box was enough.  No bowl needed.

He didn’t have much of an appetite, so he only nibbled on some pieces.  Archimedes was treated to a small piece or two for being so patient, but only of the oat part of the cereal, the marshmallows were Henrik’s.  It wasn’t too long after he started eating that he stopped, standing up again to put the cereal back away.  That short duration of eating made him glad that he hadn’t bothered to get himself a bowl after all.

Before he moved back to his living room, he got a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer and held them against his bruised cheek.  The side of his face was sore, thanks to the beat-down he had gotten, and all he wanted right now was to numb the pain.

There was a muffled ringing coming from his discarded apron, and he sighed upon hearing it.  He wanted to let the call go to voicemail, deal with it later when he felt better, throw his phone down the disposal even.  Just something so that he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone else right now.

He wanted to, but he didn’t.  His duties came first, and he needed to be available to others.  Besides, if it was Scout calling, then he wanted to be there for him.  He had promised the boy he’d try to be.

As he walked towards the ringing phone, he sighed again, trying to find the energy to deal with whatever the boy was going to prattle on about.  

If Scout was in some sort of trouble after talking about tonight, then Henrik’d have to try to be the adult.  If it was his mother calling about tonight, though, Henrik would just have to  _ try. _

But was it really too much to ask for a peaceful night for once?  All he wanted was time to sit down, relax, and try to numb his pain.

He bent down to pick up the phone, fighting with the tangled apron as the default sound of a ringtone shrilly chirped on.  Finally, not a second too soon, he fished the phone out of his pocket and put it up to his ear.  Then he quickly moved it to his other ear, because of the frozen peas in his way.

“Hello?” He said, leaning back against the counter, “Yes, I’m Henrik Vogler.  May I ask who is-”

He paused as he listened to the person on the other end of the line talk.  As they spoke, his face grew pale and his eyes widened, a look of disbelief and panic shot at the person on the other end, though they couldn’t see it.

Before he had properly hung up, the peas had been dropped to the floor with a thunk, and he was scrambling.  He hopped as he pulled his boots back on, snatching a new set of glasses, grabbing the closest coat as he ran out the door, barely remembering to lock it behind him.

He tripped down the stairs, taking them as quickly as he could to get to the bottom floor.  He stumbled on the last stair, having to stumble a few steps to regain his balance, heading for the outside all the while.  He had to get  _ outside. _

Once he was out of the building, he ran out of the parking lot, tearing down the street that he had walked many times before.  In the dark, things looked more hopeless, more foreboding, far less welcoming.  The buildings loomed over him as he tore down the street, barely paying mind to the pedestrian signs or the traffic lights, focused on only one thing.  He had to get there  _ now. _

The flashing lights were reflected in the puddles, the inky black road offering the perfect backdrop for the other colors around to mix and mingle as they spun and swayed in the puddles.  The silence of the darkness offered no resistance as the sirens in front of him blared and screamed, taking over the former silence of the night.  He had to  _ go. _

He ran closer and closer, his heart pounding in his chest, but still he ran.  His thoughts were alight with fear, a feeling of panic inside him crying out, wanting to know how bad it was, but still he ran.  The gentle rain felt like ice against his skin, but still he ran.  He had to keep  _ running. _ . 

The darkness of the night grew brighter as he got closer, the sound of the sirens now being accompanied by other noises; yelling, water rushing, the crackle of destruction.  Other sensations ran amok, growing stronger the closer he go: the smell of smoke grew stronger and stronger, the stench seeming to taunt all people around it, almost as if proclaiming that it couldn’t be stopped.  He was so close.  He couldn’t stop now.  He had to  _ know. _

After all that running, the running that had brought him here faster than ever before, he was finally there, across the street.  The building he had come to know and love as his work place was slowly being consumed by fire, the flames licking higher and higher.  The building was still standing so far, as far as he could tell, but the damage was impossible to tell behind the glowing walls of yellow, orange, and red.

As his chest heaved and his hands shook, he fell to his knees, unable to tear his eyes away from the disaster taking place before him.  The world was filled with noises and colors, but he couldn’t make his mind process anything that was going on right now.

He had wanted to feel numb before.  

Now he did.

All he could do now was watch the firefighters try to do their best.  All he could do now was stay out of the way and wait.  There was nothing that he could do against a dangerous blaze like that.  All he could do was nothing.

And yet all he could do was watch it burn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! This chapter is 16k+ words which equals 56 pages on Google Docs.
> 
> Ready for a philosophical question?:  
> What's a coffee shop AU without the coffee shop? =D
> 
> Henrik's dream is just a joke. I'm not pulling any sci-fi but who was phone? stuff here.  
> Also, Jane did not know about stuff in the brownie, just in case you were wondering. He just wanted to give Henrik a brownie as an apology token.
> 
> I can't think what else I wanted to note about characters or the chapter here. I might add more later when I remember it.
> 
> The fight with Ty grew longer than I had planned for. I was listening to Megalovania while I wrote it. I blame that. It's good tunes.
> 
> Hope everyone is having a great 2016 so far!!


	9. We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henrik's life post fire. How's the man coping with his business being turned into a dark roast?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find this chapter on tumblr here: TBA  
> Likes and reblogs are appreciated, but by no means required. =)
> 
> Many thanks to my beta. You're an angel, and a speed-reader of one at that.

The weeks after the fire hadn’t been easy for Henrik.  

His life had fallen into disarray, in more ways than one;  his life had turned into a  mess, and, in turn, so had his apartment, with paperwork strewn about and strange waves of stress-spawned untidiness washing over the place, staining everything within it.  

Without his shop, he didn’t really have a reason to get dressed for the day or to even to bother to look nice at all.  He had tried, he had, but it was far easier to let a five o’clock shadow decorate his cheeks, to let his bedhead remain wild, and to stay dressed in only a long sleeve Henley and sweatpants.  No one was going to see him anyway, so why even spend the energy to bother?

He had been swamped with calls and paperwork, which was nice only because it barely gave him time to think.  All of the damage to the building had been bad: there was no way to call damage good, but, at the very least, it hadn’t been too severe.  Repairs on it would be able to take place once the paperwork was in order.

It could have been worse.  Henrik knew that.  He just wished that people would stop reminding him of that; what he was dealing with right now was bad enough without other people, people who knew nothing about him or his business, feeling the need to comment on it.

People said it was lucky that the whole building hadn’t burned down.

It wasn’t lucky. The fire department had shown up in time to stop it.

They said he was lucky to have insurance to cover the damage.

But it wasn’t luck. He had been paying for that insurance for years, just in case something did happen.  Luck hadn’t been paying that insurance bill he took care of every month.

People said he was lucky no one was hurt.

But it wasn’t. No one would have been hurt, because the building was closed when the fire happened. If someone had been there, maybe it would have been reported sooner.

They said he was lucky to be able to take such a long break from work, especially at this time of year.  A “vacation”, they called it.

It was far from lucky. Out of the year, this was the one where he needed to most distraction. Without his work to occupy his days and thoughts, he had nothing to do but think.

And by this point, he was so very tired of thinking.

He had also stopped talking to those other people. He didn’t see the point of trying anymore, not when they all seemed to feel the need to open their mouths and spout out the ignorant phrase their brains had wasted energy on bringing into existence.  What was even the point of talking to someone like that?

There wasn’t.  Now he made sure that he only spared the most necessary details, answering the bare minimum needed to continue.  People wanted to know all of the details about the disaster, but no one wanted to bother being concerned about it.  It was tiring and soon Henrik’s already limited conversations dwindled further.  Lately, he had been lacking in energy, spending it all on trying to get his life back together, and he wasn’t going to waste what little resources he had on people like that.

During that time, when he was trying to at least start to fix up his life, he lived his days only occasionally talking to someone or having someone drop by, leaving his apartment only when he needed to go get something, be it groceries for him or birdseed for the doves.

It was at these quiet moments — the moments he had now that he wasn’t planning menus, thinking about inventory, or mentally preparing for paperwork — that his mind would wander.

Once, when he was walking back to his place, found himself contemplating stepping out into the busy road, the roar of the engines promising some strange sense of peace and quiet.  

As soon as he realized what he was doing, he stopped. He had birds to take care of, and he needed to go home to do that right now.  There was no time for this stupidity. 

Another time he had only wondered what it would matter if something happened to him, if he was just gone.  Ah, but who else would do the paperwork to get the shop back in order?  He had to be around to do that.

If he had taken another moment to think about these thoughts, instead of neatly brushing them aside with what he felt was a logical retort, he would have frightened himself with how dark they were.  Instead, they flowed in one ear and numbly out the other, with Henrik instead trying to focus his tired brain on his next task.

That’s how his life seemed to carry on for a while. A dark thought would cross his mind, but then he’d push it aside in favor of a task he had to do. He had phone calls to make, papers to fill, a business to get repaired; he didn’t have time to be stupid.

He didn’t have the energy to, either.

Over and over, he had tried to tell himself that taking calls and filling in paper was his new job.  He had spoken with his business partner and, though she had promised to sign the documents necessary, she wasn’t going to be taking any part in the rest of the process.  Getting the shop back up and running was Henrik’s responsibility and he had promised he would take care of it.  

So he had to.  The only other option laid out was to sell, and there was no way Henrik was going to do that.  That shop was his, at least forty-nine percent of it was, and he was going to fight for it.  As much as he could fight, anyway.

Days were like blurs for him.  He would work until he grew tired of it, then drink until he grew too tired to do that.  Sometimes he would wake up on the couch, ready for the day, only to find out it was night.  When the places he needed to call weren’t open, it was hard to make any sort of progress.  When he was unable to get any work done, he somehow managed to feel worse than he already did.  

Drinking soon became his salvation from himself.  He had quit drinking some years back, but that was because he hadn’t needed to.  Now?  Now the bottle helped him find a way to relax after dealing with calls and paperwork and people all morning.  With how he was slowly becoming more and more of a hermit, it was also slowly becoming his only friend.

The people that he dared to think of as friends were putting up a fight for that title, at least most of them were.  Some of them had been dropping by, or making calls; some of them had even been doing both.

Dell had been one of Henrik’s most frequent visitors, keeping track of the man both by bringing him food and by ringing him up.  He’d sometimes stay for only a few minutes; other times he would stay longer, talking about nothing important and, instead, just filling the silence with his smooth, southern voice. It was like he was trying to encourage Henrik to talk about _something_ , or at least listen to something other than the usual stiff silence of his apartment.

The Texan's last visit had been over a week ago, though.  He had brought a green bean casserole and a much needed feeling of calm with him.  He stayed as long as he could, talking with Henrik as he worked, making sure the man ate or helping to straighten the place up a bit.  He wouldn’t move papers, but would attempt an attack on the dishes that were piled up in the sink, or some other small favor, that would be one less task for Henrik to handle.  

Dell was a clever man, and usually his cleaning took place out of Henrik’s sight while the man was working or sleeping.  He knew that Henrik would more likely than not be embarrassed by the help.  What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, though, so Dell kept these small favors as subtle as possible.  It would be hard to keep an eye on Henrik if he was kicked out.

But the week had been quiet.  Something had come up in Dell’s life, though Henrik wasn’t sure what, and the Texan had needed to jet away as soon as he could to take care of it.  At least, that’s what Henrik thought he had heard; he had been working while Conagher was talking, and it had been difficult for him to stay focused on the man or on his work.  It had been difficult for him to remain focused on a lot of things lately.

He had to try to concentrate on getting everything back in order.  The only way he was going to get his life back in order was to get the shop rebuilt, and the only way he was going to get that done was to find a way to get his useless ass in a chair and work on getting past the insurance agents and the estimates from the contractors.  Even despite how tired he was, he had to get this done.

There was no other option for him.  There really wasn’t.

Right now, he was busy going over his papers once more.  Insurance forms, repair bids, and police reports of the damage lay before him.  His attention started to wane from comparing price quotes.  Who could blame him?  He had spent his morning trying to focus long enough to create a dent in the pile of papers surrounding him.

He put the paper down, exhausted with dealing with the numbers for so long.  His hand moved along the table and he slid the damage report out from under some other papers.

Why was he reading it again?  He had read it so many times already, just trying to grasp the reality that the shop was gone.  

The paper said that the back had been broken into and that the fire had started in the back storage room, gasoline on newspaper, plywood, and other flammable trash that had been out back spread all over the storage room.  The flames had spread fairly quickly, though not quick enough that they couldn’t be stopped to some degree, engulfing most of the backroom and slowly spreading to the front.  The place was a charred mess, with the backroom looking like a painting from a depressed Dali with everything burned together or otherwise incinerated, and, while the front had it’s fair share of burns as well, it wasn’t horrible.  It definitely could have been worse.  

A note on the paper on the incident, somewhere on one of the back pages, had use the phrase “dark roast” in its tagline.

Perhaps it was only meant to be a joke. That didn’t mean that it didn’t give Henrik a sick feeling in his stomach when he saw it.

The shop’s damage was enough to warrant a decent amount of repair, but not bad enough to require that the place was torn down completely.  That one fact gave Henrik the smallest amount of hope about the situation.

If it had needed to be built from the ground up, then there was no way he could have made the argument to bring the building back to life.  Repairing, though, that could be argued for, especially when the insurance was going to be helping to cover most of the loss, thanks to Henrik keeping records about every single little thing.

He could always go get another job at a different coffee shop.  That was always an option.  He had the experience and track record, as well as the connections, to be accepted nearly anywhere in the city.  

But it wouldn’t be  _ his  _ shop.  It wouldn’t be run the way he wanted.  His hours would be cut short, his status would be meaningless, and it wouldn’t be his.  There were other coffee shops in the world, and at least five more in the town, but they would mean nothing to him.  

All he wanted was  _ his  _ shop back.

The police didn’t even know who did it.  There was no closure being offered for him, none at all.  They had interviewed a few suspects, gotten alibis from others.  His own employees, both current and former, had been questioned, though they were all cleared.  Miss Pauling had quietly gone over everything that they knew with Henrik, doing her best to keep him updated whenever a new tidbit came up.

Jane had been at a birthday party with the Murray fellow, helping the man with his act.  There had been plenty of witnesses around to secure a location for the man, and they all said that that the magic tricks had been terrible, save for the one where a raccoon popped out of a box and lunged for the magician’s face.

Scout had been with his family that night.  Though that wasn’t the most solid alibi in the world, each family member had been able to say what they had been arguing about, matching them up and revealing that they had indeed been at home that night.  The police didn’t need to know that Scout and his step-father had gotten into a near-shouting match over Scrabble, arguing whether “wizbang” was a word, but that’s what the interviewer was told three separate times.  They were low on the list of suspects anyway.

Ash had been at a concert with Mundy.  Mundy had been playing saxophone in the volunteer band, something about charity if Henrik recalled correctly, and Ash had had a seat on the front row.  They said that the music had been quite good, Mundy was a great player, and they had gotten to meet that Tavish guy that they had seen at the shop a few times playing the piano.

That most likely meant that Tavish was in the clear too, though Henrik would have never suspected him.  The man didn’t even point to Tavish as a possibility.  They had argued over a woman and, though they hadn’t spoken in a while now, Tavish didn’t seem like the person to burn down a building in anger.  Aside from that, the man worked in the demolition business.  If he had wanted that building to come down, it would have come  _ down. _

As far as Henrik could tell, and as far as the police could, the Classics were to blame.  From breaking in and attacking, something Pauling was furious Henrik didn’t report officially to her, to the not-so-veiled threat at the end from the woman, all signs pointed to the Classics.

With a sigh, Henrik dropped the paper out of his hand, and the air caught it on its ways down.  The paper careened to the side, knocking quite a few other pieces off of the crowded table.  Groaning, Henrik stood to pick the pieces of paper up.  It was getting to the point that he was too tired to think.  He didn’t want to think anymore either.

He should probably get something to eat.  Probably.  It was hard to remember when he had last eaten, so it was a safe bet that he should head to the kitchen and grab something.  The only problem with that was that he wasn’t hungry.  

That didn’t mean that he shouldn’t grab something though.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the table and headed to the kitchen.  The TV was still playing that old black and white “A Christmas Carol” movie, for it twas the season to be bombarded by Christmas joy, no matter how much one tried to keep it away.  

Surely there was just something that he could grab to eat.  He wasn’t in the mood to cook at all. He didn't even have the energy to even think about doing the task.  

It was better than trying to struggle with sleep, though.  Since Edith left him, his bed had always felt too big.  Recently, especially with the events that had transpired, it felt  _ far _ too big for him to sleep in alone.  He had been spending his nights out on the couch instead.

The couch was far from comfortable.  It left him sore every time he woke up.  There was an odd crick in his neck from laying on the arm.  But it seemed to fit him perfectly.  It was a spot only meant for one person to lay on.  There was no empty spot beside him, desperate to be filled.  No feeling of lonely guilt if he moved too close to the center, away from his side.

The couch was an odd place to sleep night after night, especially when there was a bed only a few feet away, but it was  _ his. _  It was his spot alone, and that's what made it unfortunately perfect.

He should swap out that two-person bed for something smaller, something more appropriate for his single living situation, but he couldn't.  If he did, then that meant he was finally acknowledging that he was truly alone.  He couldn't.

As he stood in the kitchen, overwhelmed by the idea of doing anything, a welcome distraction came in the form of a knock at the front door.  Henrik headed to the door and opened it, not bothering to use the door peephole; anyone that would even bother to come visit him knew that he was more likely home than not.

The sight behind the door was a welcomed one, the stop to the mental spiral that he needed right now.

“Hey, Hen!” Scout said with a grin when he saw the man, shifting a heavy parcel under his arm, “Lemme jus’ tell ya’ that your building’s elevator is freaking scary.  More like a hellevator then than an elevator.”

“Oh?” Henrik prompted, stepping aside to allow Scout room to enter.  He was already well aware of the horrors of the elevator, he avoided it every chance he could.  He would listen to stories about the building's elevator if it meant hearing someone else talk and fill the lonely silence around him..  Even an embellished story about a battle with an elevator was welcome.

“Too tired to take the stairs today?” Henrik asked, looking around for something to eat with Scout.  The longer he had company, the better, and if he had to bribe his company to stay, then so be it.

“Yeah, kinda, it’s been a long day,” Scout said slowly, standing awkwardly in the kitchen’s doorway, unsure of what he should now.

“Has it?  That’s good.  Keeping busy is good.  Come have a seat.” Henrik said quickly, “And you can put your bundle, whatever it is, down anywhere.”

“It's bird seed,” Scout told him, carefully clearing away some dirty dishes so he could put the bag down, “Thought maybe Archie and the gang might be running low soon, so I grabbed ya’ a bag on my way here.”

“Ah, thank you, I was needing to get one,” Henrik replied,  “How much do I owe you?”

“Not a cent, it’s a gift,” Scout told him, finally sitting down at the table, “You, uh, need to talk?  I mean,  I can't stay long, but I got time to talk for a bit “

“You have plans?” Henrik asked him, pulling a bottle of ginger ale out of the fridge. 

“Got a date tonight.  A short one, at least.”

“Pauling?”

“Yeah, we're going to a movie,” Scout said, watching Henrik pour him a glass of soda, “ You heard about that new one that's out?  Intergalactic Slapfight?  About Duke Ramekin Starkiller, Reyla Oregano, and Sax Solo?  It’s a cool series, but it could use less, uh, sand, though.”

“I'm afraid I'm not on top of the movie scene as of late,” Henrik said, “But I hope you two have fun.”

“I do too.  It’s, like, the eighth one in the series.  The effects look so awesome this time, like even the CGI of Kir Kik Sponks, this alien guy, and it even looks like the Sylonrens can aim this time,” Scout said excitedly, “The movie’s all we planned, though, because Pauling doesn't have a lot of time off this week, she’s been doing a lot of overtime stuff-”

The boy wisely shut up before he mentioned that she was working overtime because she was working personally on Henrik’s presumed arson case.  Henrik was already well aware of what had happened, he didn't need a reminder.

If Henrik realized what Scout had been saying, that Pauling was working more because of the fire, then he didn't let it show.

“That certainly sounds like a thrilling picture you’re going to see,” He said as he placed the ginger ale down in front of Scout, the drink a near identical match to his own glass of white wine in terms of color, “How has your family been?”

“We've been fine.” Scout answered, “Ma’s been baking and stuff, getting ready for the winter wedding season.  Jules’ been working for his fancy new company, wherever that is.”

“I'm glad your mother is busy, sounds like it's good for business, and it’s good that your stepfather got himself a job,” Henrik replied, “But, Scout, you didn’t tell me: how have you been?”

“Ah, me?” Scout asked slowly, hand nervously drumming his thigh, “I've been... good.  Good.”

“Have you really?” Henrik asked, head resting in his hand as he studied Scout.

“Yeah!” Scout replied energetically **,** “Yeah, I've been, uh, busy...doing stuff.”

“Oh?” 

“Crammed a lot for my finals.  Man, I’m glad those are done,” Scout said with a happy sigh,  “I finally have time to breath again.  Been working at McDonalds too.  It’s hard to breathe there sometimes.”

“Finals.  School.  I forgot you were taking classes part-time,” Henrik said, throwing his arm over the back of the chair, “How did those go?”

“Eh, alright.  Good enough,” Scout answered, “Still not sure the whole school thing's for me.”

“Not liking college?”

“Just between you and me?” Scout said quietly, receiving a nod from Henrik, “...Not really.  No.”

This was news to the German.  He remembered a time where Scout would proudly dump his backpack full of books down and proclaim that he had just gotten done with his  _ college  _ classes and wasn’t that impressive?  It was only vaguely that Henrik recalled how the boy had brought fewer and fewer books to the shop every semester, and how his proud announcements had all but dwindled down to nothingness.  Henrik had merely thought that the novelty had worn off for the boy, not that he was falling out of an educational relationship.

“Why?” Henrik finally asked.

“Don't know.  It just...doesn't feel right, “ Scout replied, “Like, I used ta’ look forward to it, and now it just feels like I’m wasting time with everything there and, like, I don't even know what I want to do anymore.”

“You used to know,” Henrik said as he looked the boy over, “What’s changed?”

“It's just that...The closer I get to what I thought I wanted, the farther I get from feeling like it's right.” Scout replied.

That was a feeling that Henrik had known all too well all of his life, and a feeling that had been re-appearing more and more the more his life seemed to fall apart.

“Ah, second guessing yourself?” He asked.

“Hmm…” Scout paused, to ponder “Yeah, I guess I am and-...Yeah.”

“And what?” Henrik asked.

“And, ah, and…” The boy paused, buck teeth lightly chewing on his lower lip, “And no one says that I’m gonna be able to make it as a trainer and I think they’re right.”

“Is that so?” Henrik asked slowly, “Do you think that too?”

“I’m starting to.  Ma’ said that I could give this route a try an’ see if I liked it.” Scout said, resting on his elbows. “She didn’t want me to, but she wanted me to go to college’, so she said I could studying the athletic training.  Without baseball, she had to find something to get me to go, but now I’m not sure I want to stay.”

“So does that mean you’re going to quit school?” Henrik asked, eyes searching Scout’s face, “You’ve already been going for, what it is now, three semesters?  Four?  It’s just a two-year college we have here locally, so why stop now?”

“‘Cause it’s hard to sit down and study when you feel like you’re wasting your time, alright?” Scout said ashamedly, watching Henrik take a long sip from his drink, “I just...don’t know how to tell that to m’folks.  How do you say ‘thanks for the money you spent towards school, I think it’s been wasted’ to your mom?”

Henrik let the wine sit in his mouth, partially closing his eyes as he savored the taste and seemingly thought about how he would reply.  With a slow gulp, he looked directly at Scout and imparted something that couldn’t quite be called wisdom:

“I don’t know.”

Scout tilted his head when he heard the response, a confused look on his face, but that soon gave way to his usual joking smile.

“Ah, that’s a good one, Hen,” Scout said, relaxedly slouching in his seat, “But for real now, I could really use your advice here.”

“Scout, I don’t feel like I’m in the best position to be offering advice right now.” Henrik admitted, rubbing a hand against his stubbly cheeks as a guilty look crossed his face, “I hardly even know what to do with myself, so I don’t feel comfortable telling others what to do.  Especially not about something this important.” 

“Huh, really?  No advice to share at all?” Scout asked dejectedly, his shoulders sinking a tad, “Alright, if ya’ say so, I’ll stop buggin’ you about it right now.  Didn’t mean to put pressure on you like that, Hen.  Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Henrik reassured him, “I’ve just been mentally scattered while trying to get the shop back up and-”

“It’s gonna come back, right?” Scout asked quickly, “You’re gonna get the shop back up, right?”

“I’m definitely going to try,” Henrik responded, “I’m not giving up my store without a fight.”

“You mean you’ve been walloping people for it?” Scout asked, his eyes getting wider with interest as he sat up straighter.

“Well…No,” Henrik paused, “But I have been dealing with a lot of paperwork.”

“Bet you’ve been kinda drowning through the stuff, huh?”

“I’ve come close,” Henrik agreed, “Finally seemed to have reached the end of this part of it.  Now I’m mostly waiting for phone calls.”

Scout paused, glancing down a moment in what appeared to be deep thought before he looked up at Henrik.

“That mean you’re free tonight?” He asked.

“Why are you asking me that?” Henrik asked, frowning slightly, “I’m not joining you on your date.”

“Whoa, hey, that’s not why I was asking,” Scout replied with a laugh, “I was just wondering if you have free time at night or if you’re working all the time now to get everything back up.”

”Most businesses close at five, so I have to stop,” Henrik said, “If they stayed open, I’d be calling at all hours, but since they don’t, I have to have free time.”

“Huh, alright  Okay.” Scout said, giving a slow, thoughtful nod as he listened to Henrik’s reply. 

The conversation dwindled down into silence, and both parties seemed to appreciate having a moment to think.

Scout, however, had never been a fan of long-term silence, and so he was the one to break it.

“Speaking of dates,” Scout started, “You talked with that Misha guy since the fire?”

Henrik stiffened, tiredly looked at Scout, and then looked back down at his glass.  It was getting rather empty, unfortunately so, but he didn't feel like pulling out the wine bottle and getting another lecture or inquires from someone about his chosen, alcohol-based coping mechanism.

“I've talked with him once or twice,” Henrik replied, pushing his glass to the side, “Once to let him know why the date was off, another because he called to talk.”

Probably to check up on him.  A lot of people had been doing that.  Scout was probably here for the same reason.

“You have a nice talk with him?” Scout asked, quickly adding, “‘Cause, I mean, he seems like a nice guy.”

“Considering the circumstances, it was decent enough,” Henrik replied, “He was both sympathetic and understanding.  I couldn't have asked for anything else. “

“Sounds like you didn't mind talking with him,” Scout said, “So...uh, why have you only talked twice then?”

“I haven't exactly had a  _ boatload _ of free time, Scout,” Henrik countered, “My focus has been on the shop and getting it rebuilt before I worry about anything, or anyone, else.   _ That,  _ and only that, is my priority right now.”

That’s what he said.  When he thought about the times at night when he had let the calls go to voicemail, he wished that’s what it actually was. He just didn’t have the energy to engage in such  an important conversation like that with the way things were now.  

What he wanted to say was that he was just tired.  He wanted to say that he was just too busy.  Neither of those were the answer, though.  It was deeper than that.

He didn’t want to put his heart on his sleeve only to get it ripped off again.  He didn’t want to risk being kicked when he was already feeling this low.  He didn’t want to make himself vulnerable, not again, not with how vulnerable he already felt.

He’d never phrase it as such, but he was scared.  He was scared about what might happen, especially if he was turned down by someone else he had apparently already given his heart, and it was easier to live in a place where he shut himself off then opening himself up again.  It was easier to let the fear be, and just ignore anything about the situation, then it was to try to deal with it.

“So, uh, Hen, okay, just tell me this,” Scout asked, brow knitted tightly, “Do you still wanna see the guy later?” 

”I don’t know,” Henrik replied, hand moving to rub the back of his neck, “I mean, I do, but I don’t know how it would work.  Maybe when I have freetime again I’ll see what happens.  Maybe.”

“Okay, but, uh, Hen?” Scout said, getting the man’s attention, “Nothing’s gonna change unless you try.  Won’t hurt ya’ ta’ talk to him sometime, if that’s what ya’ want.  I wouldn’t have a date with Pauling tonight if I hadn’t asked her ta’ the ball game.  Like my dad always said: sometimes it’s best to just close your eyes and swing, and you’ll hit the balls you’re meant to.”

“You’re not talking about Julian, are-”

“No.  No, not him.  My  _ dad _ , Hen, not him,” Scout replied, “The guy who raised me, not the guy who pretends I don’t exist.”

“Julian doesn’t pretend that you don’t exist-”

“Listen, my  _ dad _ was there for me.  He’d take me to the park, he’d take me to the ballfield, and we’d play and we’d, you know, be a father and son there.  He’d talk with me, laugh, help me work on my curveball, he’d give me advice and reassurance, he’d help me with my homework, he’d be a  _ dad _ ,” Scout said, eyes starting to get a bit damp as he reminisced, “Julian smokes and glares at me.  I don’t understand  _ why  _ or  _ how  _ my mom fell for a guy like him after she had a guy like my dad around, not unless she was just desperate.”

“Have you tried talking with Julian?” Henrik asked, “I don’t believe he despises you, Scout.  I’ve talked with him before a few times  — he’s a formal, uptight man, but he doesn’t mean he hates you.” 

“He won’t even call me ‘Scout’, I have to make him by not reacting unless he does.  I like being called ‘Scout’, it’s the nickname my real dad gave me, and you do it, and he won’t even do something as small as  _ that. _ He won’t even  _ walk _ into my workplaces.  He wouldn’t do it at the coffee shop, and you know he’s not going to do it at McDonalds,” Scout said, hand clawing at his pants, “It would be easier for him, an’ my ma’, if I wasn’t around, after all, I’m just, like, a burd-”

“You got a job at McDonalds?” Henrik asked, interrupting Scout before the boy could continue, “When did that happen?”

“Last week, Henrik,” Scout said with a sigh, “Think I mentioned it already, not that I’m proud of it.  I mean, I know I’m lucky I even landed the job so quickly, but...eh.”

“Take it that you’re not a fan of working in fast food?”

“Me?  Nah, not really.” Scout said, “I work the drive-through, ‘cause I talked too much while workin’ the front, and, I mean, the headset’s pretty cool, even if it hurts after a while, but it’s so much more...regulated, I guess.”

“Meaning?”

“Like: no chatting, orders have to be moved through in, like, a minute and half or less or something, my manager’s a hardass, and, like, a worse hardass than you ever were, and-” Scout sighed again, “I just miss the friendly interaction.  And I’m not talkin’ about the fake ‘have a nice day’ smile you plaster on your face, I mean the ‘getting to know people’, and actually talking when there was time, an’ makin’ it personal for everyone, you know?  I don’t even see that many people’s faces anymore, not for long, ‘cause I’m staring at a screen and flirtin’s gotten even harder when ya’ can’t the girl’s face or who’s in the car with her.  It’s like playin’ roulette, where you could drop a good line, and it turns out she’s got this bodybuilder in the car with her.  I’ve just kinda stopped trying that….Goddammit, I miss the coffee shop so much, Hen.”

“I do too, Scout,” He said, reaching out to place a hand on Scout’s arm, “And I can only try to get planets in the right alignment so that everything works out in the end.  I can only try, Scout, but sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can’t always win.  I  _ am _ going to do everything that I can to get the shop back up, I’ll fight everyone I have to, I can promise you that, Scout.”

“I know that you will, Hen, I saw you deck a guy in the face a while back.  If anyone can bring the shop back, and kick ass at the same time, it’s you, ” Scout said with a laugh as he scooted his chair back, “Hen, thanks for talkin’ with me.  I appreciate ya’ taking the time to chat, but I gotta go.”

“Oh, of course.” Henrik replied, moving to stand up as well, “Thank you for staying to talk with me.  It was enjoyable, something I needed, but I’ve kept you busy long enough.  You’ve got a date to get ready for tonight.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem. An', hey, watch out if you go drivin' today. The roads are slick. Should probably just chill at home today, you know?” Scout said as he walked to the door with Henrik, “Anyways, I got plenty of time to get ready for my date.”

“Good luck with it,” Henrik said as he watched Scout leave, “And be sure to have fun.”

“Hey, you too, Hen!  Good luck, man,” Scout called back with a wave, nearly tripping over his feet as he stopped and turned to look back, “And, uh, hey, Henrik?”

“ _ Ja? _ ”

“Everything’s gonna be okay again, right?”

The German paused, aware of how loaded a question that was.  It was impossible to promise that everything was going to be okay, he knew that.  With the way Scout had been acting and talking, though, and with the way the boy was looking at him, he felt that, this one time, it would be fine for him to lie, if only to reassure the boy.

“Everything is going to be okay, Scout,” He said, looking the boy straight in the eyes, “I promise.”

That was what Scout needed to hear apparently, because he accepted those words without a comment or retort; instead, smiling as he turned back around and continued to walk away.  Henrik watched as Scout called for an elevator, waited, and then, after only a few seconds, decided to take the stairs instead.  Whether it was because the elevator was terrifying or just because it was taking too long, anyone could guess.

It  _ was _ easier to go down then up, he thought as he stepped back into his apartment, Henrik could attest to that. Though perhaps it was because, when he was climbing up the stairs, it had been after a long day of work.  Work that he no longer got to go to.  Now he was just tired all of the time.

That was probably why he hadn't gone anywhere for the last couple days.

Maybe tonight he’d try to go somewhere.   It might just be to a store  — because he should probably pick up some milk  —  but it could still be  _ some _ where.

First, though, he was going to see what else he could get done.  There was no reason for him to waste time.  His night out on the town to get milk  — or something else  —  could easily be prepared for later.

But first thing first: he was going to shave down some of that stubble.  Somehow, despite nicking himself once, it made him feel better in a way; probably because it was how he normally looked.  Never before could he say that he found a sense of comfort in a razor, he realized as he rubbed at his jaw, but adding just a hint of normality back into his life did just that.

Then he turned off the TV, tried of having it on, and started taking care of the dishes.  He began at the sink and moved outwards as he put the plates away.  

Was it a momentous achievement that he was doing the dishes?  Not normally, no, but it was now.  The sight of an empty sink was actually a rather nice one, he realized, especially when it had only been a piled-up mess before.

With that out of the way, he headed back to the table, to organize his papers once more.  As the finished paperwork was sorted from the ones that he still needed to do, he paused to check the clock. 

The mail wasn't due to come for a bit.  He had time to package some papers up in envelopes, and send them on their way and out of his apartment.  That would help clean the place up a bit, though there was still much to be done.

Later.  He'd do the rest later.  He didn't have the energy to do it now.

So, for the time being, the only sound of progress were the papers being shuffled and sorted, a calmer one compared to the clinking of dishes from before.  By the time he was done with the papers, a small stack of filled envelopes sat on his table, ready to be sent.

He grabbed the stack and headed outside of his apartment, taking a second to prop open the door just enough to keep it from closing and locking him out.

He took the stairs, moving quickly to make sure that he didn't miss the mail truck.  His feet hit the ground floor, and he stepped outside the building, opening up his mail box with his key.  The cold wind sent a chill down his back, reminding him that when he went out later he needed to grab a coat.

As the door on his box of his mailbox creaked shut, Henrik felt a different chill, one that crawled up his spine.  It felt like someone was coming nearer, watching him.  Was he just paranoid?  Was the stress over the last few days just starting to get to him, making him think that he was no longer safe in his apartment?

...Or was someone actually there?

Without taking a moment to look around, he headed right inside, his heart hammering in his chest.  He took the steps up to his apartment two at a time, his ears hearing nothing except the sound of blood rushing.

Where had this feeling come from?  Nowhere, seemingly; it had appeared as suddenly as the frost on the windows had.  No matter how quickly it had appeared, though, it was still disconcerting.

He slammed the door shut behind him and took a moment to calm down, heading over to his birds.  He picked up Archimedes and gently stoked the bird’s back.  There was nothing wrong.  It was fine.  He had just panicked a moment.  He had done that a few times, inspired by the stress and lack of sleep.  Paranoia, though of a selective sort  — one that latched onto to a sudden, fearful thought and ran with it.

He gave his bird a kiss on the head, his heart rate slowing back down to a reasonable level.  It was alright.  It was okay.  There was nothing wrong.

Nothing was going right, but there was nothing wrong about right now.  Not a thing. 

Then there was a knock at the door.  

It was a soft knock, though, not one that was demanding to be let it.  It wasn’t one that sounded threatening at all.  It was a friendly knock.  

A knock that he should probably go answer.

Henrik locked his birds back up, gently placing Archimedes back down next to her sleeping siblings.  It was time for the birds to take an afternoon rest, which  meant it was a good time to lock them up; it was also just in case the person at the door wasn’t as friendly as their knocking could lead him to believe.

Having one visitor in a day was reasonable, but having two was quite strange.  Dell was still out of town, and, if Scout had popped back over, his knocking would be louder, more energetic than calm taps he was hearing.  Jane would have broken down the door by now.  Tavish had his own problems to attend to.  He had no idea who else would visit him besides them, so whoever was behind the door was a mystery to him.

He slowly approached the door, a gentle second round of knocking just beginning.  Taking a moment to get on-guard, though a casual on-guard, just in case the person on the other side of the door wasn’t someone who meant him well.   

When he opened the door, he didn’t know who, or what, to expect.  Out of everything he could have come up with, seeing a svelte, gorgeous blonde that he knew very well outside his door wasn’t something he would have guessed.

“Edith?” He asked, slowly opening up the door wider.

“ _ Ja.   _ I had forgotten how terrible the elevator was here _ , _ ” She looked up at him, a smile on her face and arms crossed across her chest, “Henrik, can I come in and talk to you?” 

“I-...” He looked her over curiously, slowly stepping to the side of the door, “Yes.  Edith, please come in.”

She stepped into the apartment, the slight heel on her boots clicking softly once they hit the worn linoleum.  It was obvious that she knew her way through the apartment, not stopping until she reached the living room area.

She sat down on the smaller chair, barely offering a glance to the papers and items scattered on the table in front of her.  Before she spoke, she waited for Henrik to take a seat on the couch.

“How have you been?” She asked in a tone that was surprisingly gentle for her, at least of what Henrik remembered of her tone.

“I've been…” He paused, trying to come up with a verbal way to explain himself, before deciding on a simple, “I've been.”

“Ah,” She said, the uncomfortableness growing as the silence lingered, “I heard about the shop.  I'm sorry. “

“Did you?” He replied, “I figured that you would be more elated than sorry, to be honest.”

“Henrik, even I'm not that cruel,” She replied with a raise of her brow. “I know how much the shop meant to you.”

“Did you?” He asked, “Why are you here, Edith?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” She said, “I've been thinking lately.”

“A dangerous habit.   Many problems have been caused by people stopping to think,” He quipped, “I would know.”

“You and your wit,” She scoffed, humor denting any annoyed tone she could have tried to convey. “But really, I have been.  Since I saw you at Conagher’s, you've been on my mind.”

“Why?” He asked, unsure of where this conversation was going.

“Henrik…” She paused, hands nervously fiddling in her lap, “Do you want to try again?”

“Try what again?”

“Us.” 

Henrik regarded her with wide eyes, slowly leaning back into his seat.  His mouth hung a tad slack and he said nothing as his thoughts raced about in his head.

“What?” He finally asked, coming to his senses, “What are you talking about?”

“The way that you were ready to fight Tavish for me… You're still in love with me, aren't you?”

“I-...”

“I've been wondering if we could try again, if we could learn from our mistakes and do ourselves right,” She paused, “Do you think we can give each other another chance?”

His heart began beating faster in his chest and he looked her over, from her poised legs to her slim figure to her beautiful, anxious face looking him over.

But, with a sinking feeling, he realized that it wouldn’t work.  It hadn’t before, and it couldn’t now; they just weren’t meant to be lovers.

“Edith,” He paused, giving her a sad smile and a slow shake of his head, “You're too good for me, Edith.”

“What?” She asked, the look she gave making it clear that she hadn't expected that answer, “Why?”

“Because you deserve someone better than me,” He told her with a smile, “Because you deserve someone who can treasure you like the gem you are.”  

“Henrik, are you sure?” She asked, “I thought you still loved me.”

I do, Edith, I really do.  It hurts how much I do,” He told her, “But I'm not good enough for you, Edee, and I don't think I ever was.”

“It's been awhile since you called me that, Henrik,” She said with a smile, eyes growing damp, “And yet you still turned me down.”

“I want you to be happy, Edee, I always have,” He said, “It just took me far too long to realize that you couldn't be with me.”

“So is this for us?” She asked, “Do we just go our our own separate ways from here?”

“Edith, we've been on our own paths for awhile.  It’s because I love you and I want what’s best for you, and I want to be there for you... but only as a friend,” He told her, “I wouldn't mind still being friends.”

“You wouldn't?” She asked, then to make sure she understood, followed it up with, “Do you want to be friends?”

“I do,” He told her,  “I would love that.”

“...I see you still have your violin on that shelf over there.”

“Of course I do.”

“I remember when you would come home and play it.  It was beautiful,” She said, “Why ever did you stop?”

“...You-..Ah, you asked me to.  Said it was too much noise in the night,” He reminded her, “I am glad to hear that you actually liked my playing.”

The conversation then dropped into silence, with neither of them sure what to say.  Thankful, one of the doves began cooing from the cage at the side of the room.

“You still own doves?” Edith asked him, “Is that Gwedolyn?”

“No, no, it's Archimedes.  Gwendolyn passed a few months ago.”

“You got more birds,” She said, surveying the cage and its occupants.

“I did.  Archimedes seemed lonely.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder if the doves were like children to you,” She paused, “...Especially after I told you I didn't want any.”

“I did want kids, but you didn't. You had the final say on it.” He said with a shrug of a shoulder.

“Did that upset you?”

“It did then, but I'm glad we didn't have any,” He admitted, “It would have made the divorce far dirtier than it was.”

“It was rather dirty, wasn't it?” She said.

“It could have been worse,” He said, trying to placate her,  “I tried too hard to hold onto you.”

“Or did you not try enough?” She asked.  The ticking clock filled the silence as Henrik paused to think about her response, struggling for a reply of his own.

Edith sighed.

“That was not a fair question.  I'm sorry.” Edith said, “I did not want to be held back, you tried your best.”

“Do you really think that?” Henrik asked tiredly.

“Now I do; then, I didn't, “ She said, looking towards the window, “We were so in love.  How did it all fall apart so fast?”

“I think that, in college, we were in love enough to look past our faults and hope for the best,” Henrik said with a wistful smile. “And then, after the honeymoon ended, it was hard to love past our faults, and we hoped that that things would change. “

“And we rushed into it, like fools do,” Edith said, “Probably because your mother died around that time, and we were scared.”

“I was alone after that, except for you.  I never thanked you for staying with me, did I?” Henrik said, “I owe so much to you for that.”

“I'm glad it helped, even if it did result in a failed marriage, “ Edith said, “You're such a good man, Henrik.”

“I don't feel like one.”

“You are, more than you realize.  You always have been,” Edith said as she stood and brushed at her skirt, “Henrik, would you kiss me one more time?”

“I-” He looked over her face, her red lips, and stayed silent.  He wanted to, he wanted to kiss her, but he didn't feel like he should.  

He was letting her go, he was fighting with himself to convince himself that this was for the best, and not only was it not fair for him to steal a kiss from her, he was worried that it would crack his already shaky resolve.

Edith, thankfully, noticed his hesitation.  Moving a step closer, she gave him another option.

“Would you give me a friend's kiss?  One on the cheek?” She asked, watching as Henrik stood and looked down at her.  “Or, one more dance?  You and me?...You were always such a good dancer.”

He nodded as he slowly brought his arms around her, taking up a once familiar position.  A dance was something that he could do.  Truthfully, he missed dancing with a partner.  A broom just lacked the same sway and grace that a person could possess.

The only music they had was from the radio singing quietly in the kitchen.  Somehow, though, the two of them still moved in time, her dainty feet slipping neatly between his sock-clad ones, his hand resting easily on her trim waist, her golden hair resting against his chest.

The slow danced to the sound of their sadness, the tune of those who had loved, lost, and knew that life could never be the same filling the room with a somber sound.  

Right foot, left foot.  The two of them met in college, when the wind caught her papers and flung them across the green.  He, being a runner for the track team, had given chase, making quite the show as he caught the beautiful girls’ papers.  A puff of pride had filled his chest as she thanked him profusely, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear as she smiled with her painted lips.

He guided them to the right.  They met after classes.  They talked, with conversations staying general until one of them opened up.  Had it been him?  

Probably.  He had always been more the sap of the two of them.

Their relationship had been steady, consistently growing ever closer.  Then, as their last year of college hit the half-way point, his mother died.  Somehow, that helped them grow closer, most likely because she was all he had left to hold onto.  He had needed someone, and that poor girl had been the closest person he could get his hands on.  Somehow, she had been his beacon in the dark, the light guiding him to the surface.

They moved in a slow spin.  The wedding was bigger than he had wanted, though, comparably, it had only been a moderate one.  She had always wanted to be the center of attention, the one who was in control, while he preferred the stay in the shadows.  Her friends were the only ones that really attended.  He didn’t have anyone to invite.

His hand moved to grip her tighter.  The “honeymoon feeling” had lasted a while.  They went a year or two without trouble.  The longer they had spent with each other, learning that annoying habits couldn’t be groomed away, that the traits that they had come to love were part of the slow death that was their marriage.

Gently, he lowered her into a graceful dip.  The love was still there; it always had been, it might actually still be.  When they were in a car accident, and he had needed stitches, she had done her best to take care of him.  A soft kiss was placed on his head every night, ever after the stitches were removed and the scar faded.

The night she didn’t kiss, he knew he was in trouble.  That they were in trouble.  That everything was.

He pulled her back up, pulling her back against him.  The falling out of love had started slow, as slow as their dance, but somehow they had both let it grow out of control.  Were they just ignoring it or had they both been that blind?  Were they hoping that the other would do something to stop the glares, the fighting, the drinking, the crying, the cheating, the distance, the divorce?  Or were they both just accepting of the fact that their happiness, their road together, was coming to an end?

Had they been sad about it?  Had they been angry?  Happy?  Unsure?  Everything from then was a blur.  A blur of pain, long nights spent hiding at work, moving his way up the chain of command as she was on her way of moving out.  

He saw the wet tear trailing down her face, and he leaned down to give her a soft, short kiss on the cheek, their intertwined fingers tightening. 

He recalled a time when the two of them had been dancing in this very spot, with the radio singing a sweet tune, where he had held her close and promised that he would never let her go.  Now, all these years later, here they were, dancing together again for probably the last time, where he was doing just that.

Who had fallen out of love first?  

Had it been her?  Had she gotten tired of the long nights he worked, the arguments about children and careers, about how he wouldn’t aspire to do more than work in a coffee shop unless it was to own the coffee shop and work there.  How it had taken him far too long for him to figure out what she wanted him to say when she was upset?  

Is that why she slowly turned frigid, her kisses eventually as cold as ice?  Had she wanted to leave because he couldn’t ever be enough for her?  He wouldn’t blame her for that.

He couldn’t.

Or had it been him?  Had he been the one who pulled her suffocatingly close only to push her away?  Had it been because he it felt like he was never allowed to put himself first, how he had always needed to cater to her and her wants?  How it seemed as if she judged every part of his life?

Is that why work had become his salvation?  Is that why he turned to drinking just to get through his nights at home?

Perhaps they were both to blame.

Her shoulders shook as a small sob escaped her lips.  He held her tighter.

What a shame that the two of them had taken to falling out of love at the same time.  Or had it been fortunate?  

No, it hadn’t been. 

He had fallen out of love and their relationship, slower, trying to cling tightly onto her while she wanted,  _ needed,  _ someone else who could take care of her.

He pulled her into a tight hug, holding her there until she seemed to calm down.  It didn’t take her long, she was a woman of usually high composure and pride.  This was just a rare moment where her mask had slipped, and it never took her long to readjust it back into place.

She looked up at him, her eyes barely tinted red, her face somehow as beautiful as always despite the teary paths trailing down her cheeks.

“I apologize, I was just thinking about us, what we had and we we have lost,” She said, wiping the tears away with the bottom of hand, “Thank you for the dance, Henrik. I guess it is time for me to take my leave.”

“You’re welcome to stay longer if you want,” Henrik told her as he followed her to the door.

“I think it is time for me to be leaving.  I might drop by again someday, when I have the time, though, thank you.” She paused, a slight frown on her face, “Well, then...I suppose this is the end?”

“Edith, darling,” Henrik said, brushing his fingers against her cheek, “I hope it’s more a new beginning for the both of us.”

“I hope so as well,” A smile finally decorating her face once more, a welcome sight even if it was a sad one, “Henrik, before I go, may I ask one thing?”

“Of course, Edith, anything.”

“Is there someone else?  Do you have someone else in your life now?”

He stayed quiet, letting the words hang in the air a moment, giving away an answer before he sucked in a quick breath and opened his mouth.

“There might be, I don’t know,” He said, watching Edith’s eyebrow quirk upwards, “I’ve only talked with him in passing, while I’m at work, for the most part.   But...I have no idea.”

“Him?” Edith asked gently, “It’s a him?”

Henrik’s mouth went dry, and all he could was nod slowly and hope for the best.

“Ah, so I never had a chance,” Edith said, a wistful look on her face, “Somehow, knowing that there was no way for me to win, and that it’s not some new hot thing you picked up, it helps ease the sting of losing you again just a bit… He is not a new hot thing, is he?”

“No, Edith, he’s at least as old as-”

“Say no more. Are you going to go after him?” She asked, “You do not sound like you are.”

“Edith, I don’t know-”

“Henrik, you handsome fox, you have yourself a new beginning, without anyone to hold you back,” Edith reminded him, gently touching him on the cheek, “There is no one standing in your way, except for yourself.  Do your best to get this right, but do not waste your time waiting for the perfect moment.  You have got one life, Henrik, do you really want to keep spending it  _ waiting _ ?”

“Edee-”

“Because I know I will not.” She gave him a smile and a soft tap on the arm, “Good luck, Henrik, with everything.”

“Thank you, Edith.” He said, placing his hand over hers, “I wish you the very best with everything.  You can always come talk to me if you need anything.”

“I will be sure to remember that and keep in touch.” She said, gently moving his hand off of hers. “Goodbye, Henrik.  Goodbye.”

And with those words, she walked away from his door, towards and down the stairs, and out of his life for what could be the last time.  As the click of her heels grew softer, the frown on his face grew bigger.  

He wanted to run after her, double back on his resolve and try to pull her back one last time.  Instead, he closed the door, more to keep himself in than anyone else out.

His chest hurt, as did his heart, and he walked around his apartment in a daze.  For how long he walked, he didn’t know.  He faintly recalled trailing a finger along the leather case of his violin, removing a thin layer of dust from it.  As he stepped from room to room, he could easily see the memories of the two of them playing out in front of him.

The two of them sitting on the couch together, her laying on his chest, the way she’d sit up and wait for him when he worked late, the way they would hold on tight to each other in bed, how often they liked to kiss and touch each other, and whisper “I love yous” in the other’s ear.

But it was just as easy to see the bad as it was the good.  If he looked again, he could see them sitting on the far edges of the couch, too angry to want to even bother with the other, how she went to bed early even when he worked late, how they would face away from each other on the far sides of the bed, how often they would end up just letting a fight linger and how the love was eventually stopped cold.

The pained feeling inside of him grew, and he couldn’t stand it anymore.  He moved to the kitchen and grabbed a glass, any glass would do, and then he searched his cupboards for a bottle.  He found it in the back; the bottle of absinthe they had bought for an anniversary, the one that they had been saving for a special occasion.  

Did this count as special?  Or even an occasion?

Forget it, he was having the drink.  He needed it.

He opened the bottle, moved to pour it in a glass before he changed his mind, and started to drink it slowly from the bottle instead.  The green drink burned like a poison, but it burned in a  _ good  _ way.  He took short pulls, taking a moment to taste the drink and let it sit on his tongue before he swallowed the mouthful.  He wouldn’t drink it all now, not like this, he’d enjoy it like it was supposed to be had later, but right now he didn’t have the time nor the patience to dilute it.  

He was here for the alcohol anyway, not the taste.  He just needed to numb his mind for a bit, numb his whole being, and diluting the drink would slow that down.

As he drank, Henrik’s body shook with a dry sob, and he had to lean against the counter, right near the sink, to help him stay upright.   Somehow, despite the pain in his heart, his eyes remained dry even as his feeling of sadness grew.

It wasn’t easy turning her down. He did still love her, in a way. 

That was why he had to let her go.

She may have offered some sort of road to happiness, but it would have been a short one. After that road ended, they’d fall right back into that dark hole of trouble, remembering why they fought, why the silence between them was fraught with a simmering feeling of uncomfortableness. They’d remember why she had started going to bed early, why he drank, and why the love between them had crumbled.

He didn’t want to chase after her down another short road, only to fall again. He wanted to find someone that would walk with him down a long path by his side, despite the twists and turns that would come their way.

He loved her. From her smile to her laugh, he loved her. But it was a different love than what they had before. It was a caring love, one that wished her well and hoped she found happiness, no longer a blind love where he would forever run after her and only have hope to hold on to. 

It was a love that acknowledged that they were flawed in the wrong ways, causing the gears to stick in what should have been a well-oiled machine of marriage.

He wanted someone who understood him. He wanted someone to walk the road of life with. He wanted something more.

And, to get that, no matter how it hurt, he had to let her go.

All he hoped was that he had made the right decision.  

He had let go a short, but sure thing thing for only a chance at something more.  He had waved off reality for the idea of a mere fantasy.  He had turned away a woman that he knew that he had loved at one time for a man he wasn’t sure that he loved and wasn’t sure that would love him back....

Oh God.

What had he done?

_ Now  _ he was starting to have even  _ worse _ second thoughts about the whole thing.   _ Now  _ he was starting to realize what an optimistic fool he was being.

_ Now _ , even with a mouthful of booze, he needed a drink.  Another one.  Another another one.

After he had ingested a third of the bottle, he screwed the cap back on and searched around for a different kind of booze.  Though he wanted to be out of his mind, there was still a voice in the  back of it letting him know that he was downing an expensive bottle of booze like a madman.  If he couldn’t find anything else, he’d go back to it, but for now he’d look for something else.

After looking for a bit, he found a vodka bottle.  Though it was less than half full, what was in there would do. The dizziness from the absinthe was starting to kick in and it felt delightful.  After the tipsiness started to hit, he slowed down with his drinking, wandering out to the couch with the bottle in his hand.

The sun was setting outside, the sky painted bright with colors as the day took a bow and came to a close.  It was obnoxiously bright compared to the dark typhoon of emotions washing over him.  

If anything, though, it served as a reminder that, despite how much everything hurt, life moved on.  Someday, eventually, the hurt would go away.  It was a strangely comforting thought to get from a sunset, and he stayed right by the window to soak up the last warm rays and vibes from the sight that he could.

He made up his mind right then.  He'd try to keep his grieving for the life he'd lost, and the memories he'd never have, to only tonight.  Then, and only then,  would he try to work on moving on and searching for something else, because life was too short to spend it waiting and living in the past.

At least, that's what he was going to try to do.  He'd try to follow that idea, but implementing it would be difficult.

This was part of his new beginning, though, so he was going to give it his best try.

As the purples and pinks overtook the oranges and yellows in the sky, he looked back around his apartment.  The soft beam of light cast a long shadow behind him, and the light that slipped past iit up the shelf where his violin lay.

He didn’t usually believe in receiving signs, but this one time he’d make an exception.

Taking another pull from his bottle, he put it down by the couch as he sauntered over to the shelf.  Carefully, as much as a drunk man could be careful, he pulled down the case, took it to the couch and slowly opened it on the cushion next to him.  Inside was his violin, an instrument that he hadn’t touched in quite some time, and one that, despite having left it in its case for far too long, he suddenly felt the need to play it again.

He took a moment to look over the violin, his old friend, and feel her smooth lacquered body beneath his fingers before he picked her up .  Resting the lower bout on his shoulder, and pressing his jaw against the chin rest, he held the violin’s neck in his hand.  Then, he picked the bow up with clumsy fingers, taking a moment to maneuver them into a better, more proper grip.

Hesitating for only a moment, he took a breath before he dragged the bow across the strings and tried to coax something close to music out of the instrument.  Rather than anything resembling a melody, it sounded like he had rather invoked the screeching wrath of a cat-like monster.

To his right side, he heard the angry cooing of doves coming the cage.  Apparently, none of them had been a fan of his cacophonous performance.

“Shh, give me a moment,” He told them, holding on tight onto his violin as he lifted his head to look at them, “I need to tune her first.”

As he stooped for the tuner, something that he kept handy in the case, he heard more annoyed cooing coming from the birds.

He smiled to himself, with the grin barely ticking at his lips, as he listened to the birds and secured the tuner.  Every dove was a critic.

It took him a few minutes to get the violin mostly tuned, but he considered that fair for the months that he had neglected her.  Soon, he was sliding his bow against the strings, and a more pleasant sound came from the instrument this time.

The motion of the bow continued, but there was no thought behind it; he didn’t remember any songs, not off of the top of his head, and he didn’t want to stop to think about anything else.  So he didn’t play a song. Instead, he just played what he felt.

Was it the best thing he had ever played?  No.  There were sour notes littered throughout the piece, more than he would like to admit, notes that would ruin the tune for an experienced ear. This, however, wasn’t meant to be the best song he had ever played.

It certainly wasn’t the most practiced thing he had ever done either, because he was improvising every note only a moment before he played it.  There had been no weeks of rehearsing, no late night practices, there couldn’t have been; not with this tune.

What he was playing was a song straight from his heart.  It was personal; the chorus was written from the recent chaos, the rest was written from the pain.  All of the lows he had been dealing with over the week were slowly being distributed through the song  his emotions were vibrating over the strings as much as his bows was.  

The song started slow, one might even think it a peaceful song, if not also a somber one.  Then, with fingers growing more deft as muscle memory helped guide him, it sped up, feeling more panicked and desperate, like the song was screaming for some sort of hope as much as he wanted to.

And though he was playing for no one but himself, he had himself a larger audience then he might have thought.  Three birds sat in their cages listening, more content now that the violin was no longer screeching in untuned agony.

The tune continued for a while.  There had been short pauses when Henrik had stopped to get a quick swig of his drink, but as he threw himself back into the music, the need to get a drink all but vanished.  As his control over the music and sound slowly grew, the stress that had been building up was mellowing into something sadder, less frantic and panicked.  It was a nice change, calming and depressing at the same time, which was somehow preferable to the tight, hot worry he had been feeling clawing at his insides lately.  

It was like a rainy dark day spent inside, wishing that you could go out and interact properly but contenting yourself with a crossword and coffee, instead of trying to prepare for a hurricane to blow down the door.  It was more of a lonely, tight feeling in your chest than an ill, dizzy feeling in your body and mind.

It wasn’t the ideal feeling, but it was better than what he had been dealing with.  He had heard people say that listening to music made the world look different, colorful, brighter, but tonight hadn’t been like that for him.  The world hadn’t turned into a better place while he played, it hadn’t gotten brighter either, not with night setting in.

But the world did seem calmer now, though that just might be the exhaustion finally hitting him.   It took a lot out of him to pour his heart into a song he didn’t even know was there.  His body felt stiff, thanks to holding that position for too long, and the dizziness from the alcohol had definitely hit, but he felt better.  It was as if the music had pulled out a cork, and his emotions were being allowed to flow out of him.  Right now, it was a sobering sadness, a tired feeling that brought an ache into his bones and a sore feeling to his chest.  

Gingerly, Henrik stood from the couch, picking up the vodka bottle and, taking the last, long sip out of it, he put the bottle on a table.  After that was out of the way, he carefully packed his violin back up and placed it back up on the shelf.  He was going to be using the instrument again very soon, taking advantage of the therapeutic calm that it could bring him, but for tonight, he was done. 

“Did you all like that?” He quietly asked his doves, “That was better than the beginning wasn’t it?”

Turning, Henrik moved towards the cage.  He had left them locked up for a while, especially with all of the guests that had come today, and it would be good to let them roam some more tonight before he put them back away.  It wasn’t fair to leave them locked up all of the time simply because he had merely forgotten to let them loose.

As he stepped closer to the cage, he realized that wasn’t all that he had forgotten.  The cage was a mess, covered in the bird’s feces, scattered seed, and a few shedded feathers.  One of them had managed to snag part of the newspaper lining the bottom of the cage, pull it up, and shred the paper all throughout the cage.  The food bowl was a mess, the bottom was a mess, and the cage itself was just a disaster that he had forgotten to clean for far too long.

If he had any question as to who had been the feathered paper shredder, he didn’t after his caught the culprit in action.

“Archimedes,  _ no,”  _ He scolded as he opened up the latch on the cage and carefully picked the bird, heart sinking even further as he took another, better look at the cage, “...It’s filthy in there.”

Sobered by the sight of his neglect, he put Archimedes down out of the cage and carefully removed the other two birds as well.  He let them fly away, going to roost somewhere else in the apartment, because there wasn’t much that they could get into, and rolled up his sleeves before he got to work.

“I’m sorry,” He said to the dove that was standing back behind him on the bookcase, “I didn’t mean for it to ever get this bad.”

He received a coo in reply.  Somehow, it sounded like a disappointed one to him.

“I’m going to be a better person, I promise,” He said, as he lifted up the cage, “I’ll be better than this.”

Another coo.

“”I am  _ trying _ .  I am,” He said through clenched teeth, “You have to understand that  _ everything  _ is so damn hard these days.  I’m busy, I’m tired, and I just want to quit, but I’m trying. And I’m going to try to do better than this.  Just give me some time.”

He felt a bird fly over and land on his shoulder -  it had to be Archimedes, the others still wouldn’t regularly come near him - and look him right in the eyes.

“Don’t give me that look, I am going to try my best, I’m going to do a better job at taking care of you,” He said, frowning slightly at the bird, “That’s all I can do.  I need you to understand that, okay?”

Archimedes reached her beak up towards his hair, and gave a sharp tug on the short strands of hair that she grabbed.

“Ouch.  Archimedes, stop.  I know,” He reached up to remove her from his shoulder, catching sight of the dirty cage, “I suppose I did deserve that this time.  Archimedes, please go sit elsewhere,  _ ja? _  I’d rather you didn’t fall off of me and hurt yourself.”

Giving the bird a light push off of his shoulder, only enough to indicate movement and not to cause it, Archimedes flew off of him once more.  Now that he didn’t have to worry about her getting injured while he was tidying up the cage, he could get to work. 

Despite how messy the cage was, he was still able to thoroughly clean it up and straighten it out fairly quickly.  After many years of owning doves and other birds, he was able to efficiently scrub up after them and do a good job of it, too.

It wasn’t long before he had a immaculate cage with fresh food and water in place in front of him and a plastic bag filled with the trash at his feet.  As he picked the bag up, pausing to look at Bacchylides and Copernicus, who had flown back into the cage already, he heard a soft tapping at the door.  Without pausing to put the bag down, because he figured that it was just Archimedes messing with the door again. The bird had figured out that if she tapped it three times or more with her beak, she could get him to stand up, walk to the kitchen, and check.  

And Henrik certainly hadn’t helped discourage the habit when he gave her a piece of cereal afterwards, doing it only since he was in kitchen.  It wasn’t until he figured out what she was doing that the treats stopped, but it was a bit late.

He stopped and looked at the bird sitting on the counter, trying her best to look innocent and like she was content to nest in his coat that he had left out in the kitchen.

“Why?” He asked her.  The dove tilted her head in response.

“Don’t look at me like that, I know what you did,” He said, a knowing look on his face, “You think I don’t know, but I do, Archimedes.  I do.”

And just to prove to the bird that her playing dumb wasn’t going to work this time, he headed for the door.  When he flung open the door and showed the bird that he knew that she had been the one tapping, he was certain that he’d see a head tuck of shame come from her next.

Unlocking the deadbolt, he flung open the door and looked back at the dove.

“Do you see-” Henrik stopped mid-sentence, whipping his head back around to the doorway when he saw red out of the corner of his eye.

Misha stood there in a red and black sweater, his normally neutral face looking a bit surprised, and possibly a bit amused, by Henrik.  He must have been more surprised by the suddenness than anything, as was Henrik, because the two of them just stood there for a minute looking dumbly at each other, with a plastic bag in Henrik’s hands and a casserole dish in Misha’s.

Misha was the first one to come to his proper senses and speak.

“Hel-”

Henrik slammed the door shut in Misha’s face, cutting the man off.  

Misha may have been the first to open his mouth, but he didn’t beat Henrik’s quick ability to react before he thought.

Taking a few quick steps back away from the door, Henrik dropped the bag and cursed in German, though not just because the bag was on the floor.  Covering his mouth with his fist, he cursed again before picking up the bag, throwing it in the trash can.  

Misha could hear the sound of quiet thuds, small doors being opened and shut, water running, the sound of racing footsteps getting quieter as they got father, and then louder as they came back.  As Misha’s confusion grew, so did his amusement, especially when he heard what he assumed were swear words, though he wasn’t sure, nervously coming of Henrik’s mouth.  For a man who seemed so tame and calm, this was a side of him that Misha hadn’t expected to meet tonight.  

Of course, he had been learning quite a bit about the man while he stood outside the door, waiting.  He had been outside the apartment door listening to the violin music and wondering if he should even be here.

Not only did he not want to interrupt the man’s practice, this also did not sound like something that should be interrupted.  Misha listened to classical music, from Aagaard to Zipoli, but the song he was hearing was different.  It wasn’t orchestrated to be beautiful, to receive a standing ovation or the call for an encore from the audience, it wasn’t like that: it sounded like a song composed from sorrow.

And who was he to interrupt a moment like this?  He couldn’t interrupt a moment like this.  Not only would his affection for the man keep him from knocking right now, so would his music lover’s heart.

So it was decided.  He wasn’t going to knock on the door and interrupt the song.  It wasn’t his moment to interrupt, it sounded like it was a far more personal tune than he could ever imagine, and he didn’t want to be the bumbling idiot that ruined it. 

He wouldn’t stand outside the door like a puppy, no, but he would move away, make a call to Zhanna, keep an ear out for the song to end, and he would wait.  Out of all the things that Misha wanted to do right now, it was to see Henrik again, if only for just a minute, and he would happily wait and hope that Henrik wasn’t the type of musician that could plan for hours with no break.  But if Misha left now, coming all this way just to chicken out and leave, he would be kicking himself long after he got back home.  

In his large hands he carried a warm casserole dish.  Scout had told him that people had brought Henrik food after the fire, so he did that.  He was just going to buy something from the store; however, Zhanna told him to make something.  Not only was it more personal, she had said, but Misha’s coffee manager would have to bring the dish back and that would increase the chance of ‘thank you love-making’.  Besides, Misha knew that, if he arrived home with the casserole in tow, Zhanna would probably kick his ass too.

Not that ‘love-making’ that was why Misha had made food, mind you, that wasn’t it at all, no.  It was just that making the food  _ would  _ make it more personal and it would probably taste better than just some store-bought dish.  He had just wanted to share a meal that he had grown up with, a meal that he hoped that Henrik would like, with someone he was hoping he could get to know better.  It had  _ nothing  _ to do with possibility of making love with the man.

Not even if Misha could still clearly picture the moment when the Henrik was stepping out of the shower with his near-naked, sturdy, muscular form and his towel had almost slipped completely off and-

Yes.  Wait, no.  Sex hadn’t been his plan at all, not even with that image popping up in his head.  Not a bit.  He was here to check on Henrik, because the man was a friend who was going through hard times right now and Misha wanted to try to help in any way that he could.  That was it.

And though lovemaking hadn’t actually been part of his plan, this trip  — and every step of it that he could prepare for  —  had indeed been planned in advance.  Misha had arrived at a quarter to seven, after the average dinner time so that Henrik most likely wouldn’t be eating and interrupted by the knock on the door. He had spent the afternoon planning this, from his clothes to the time, to the food, to what he’d say.  He even had avoided taking the elevator, because from what he had heard it was a short, terrifying ride, and had triple checked that he was at the right room.

He had planned for it it all, or so he thought.  

He hadn’t planned from being knock-blocked by the sound of violin music.

And he hadn’t planned for the door to be slammed shut in his face either.

Tonight was just full of surprises, wasn’t it?  More than he had planned for, anyway.

The apartment door was swung back open after only a minute or two.  Henrik’s bedhead had been mildly tamed with a bit of water, though his coif was barely damp, and the papers on the table behind him had been organized into a neat pile on the counter.  Whether anything else had been neatened in the rest of the apartment, Misha didn’t know. 

“Hello, Misha,  I apologize for that,” Henrik said as his nerves sped up his breathing, his hand resting on the doorframe, “How did-?”

Henrik looked down in thought, and then back up at Misha’s face, swallowing his question.

“Would you like to come in?” He asked instead, stepping to the side, “And did you by chance use the elevator on your way up?  I’ve been hearing quite a bit about it today.”

“No.  Used the stairs.  Heard elevator is terrible.” Misha said, unsure if he should step inside or not.  He pondered a moment; if he stepped inside, he could always leave later, and leaving now meant that this was the end of his trip.  “Would like to come in, yes, if it is okay with you.”

“Yes, of course, it’s fine,” Henrik said, waving the man in, “Please, come in.  What, ah, brings you here?”

“Wanted to bring you something,” Misha said, “And also wanted to check on you. Have not heard from you in a while.”

“Oh.” Was all that Henrik said.  An awful lot of people had felt the need to “check” up on him.  Was that because they were worried, or because they felt that he couldn’t take care of himself?

“Also wanted to see you,” Misha admitted quickly, trying to gauge the look on Henrik’s face, “Have missed seeing you.”

“You did?” Henrik asked with a slight tilt of his head.  Was it possible to miss seeing someone like him?

“Yes, very much so,” Misha said, placing the dish down on the table, “Here is food.  Is potato and chicken casserole.”

“That sounds delicious,” Henrik said, “Thank you.”

“Henrik, Is building's elevator really possessed?” Misha asked.

“No, it’s not.  Where did you hear that?” Henrik’s hand brushed up against the dish, “Oh, I should put this in the fridge before I forget.”

The topic was dropped much to Misha’s relief.  He had almost given away his ‘informant’ who had told him to drop by tonight.  He hadn’t expected to run into the boy, who was buying energy drinks, while on a grocery run, and certainly not exchange phone numbers right then and there, but he had gotten a call earlier about being here and he should at least keep the former barista out of this like he wanted.

“Um, would you like a drink?” Henrik asked, pausing in front of the open fridge, “I have some different drinks if you’re thirsty.”

“I am good, do not bother,” Misha said.

“It was quite cold earlier today, though I wasn’t out for long,” Henrik said, adding, “I imagine it’s gotten colder as it’s gotten later.”

“Is chilly, but am used to the cold,” Misha said, “Is not so bad to me.”

Misha stood, watching the other man look down in thought.   Was he struggling for a topic?  Or was he just not happy that Mikhal had dropped by?

“...Would you like me to leave?  You do not seem comfortable,” Misha said, “Can leave and come back later, Henrik.  Is not problem.”

Henrik just looked at Misha for a minute, thinking.  Did he not seem comfortable?  Well, he wasn’t, not entirely; he had been thrust into another social interaction that he wasn’t ready for today, but he didn’t want Misha to leave.  

Maybe it’s because this was part of his new beginning, maybe it’s because he was tired and drunk, but he wanted this man to stay.

“Don’t go,” He said, halting Misha’s slow shuffle towards the door, “Can you stay for while?  I have... missed seeing you too.”

His words made Misha’s heart beat faster in his chest, and his feet immediately went still.  

He could stay?  Then he was going to stay.  He wanted to stay.

“Yes, of course.  Can stay for while,” Misha said, unable to stop the excited smile on his face.

“Let’s go out to the couch to talk, that will be more comfortable than in here,” Henrik said, “Now that you’re staying, Misha, would you like a drink?  I have water, there’s always water, ginger ale, Sprite, and some alcohol if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Ginger ale is good,” Misha replied, watching Henrik move to pour him a glass.  Though Misha didn’t fancy himself a nosy man, he couldn’t help but glance into the fridge as Henrik opened it.  As he expected, there was a decent amount of alcohol inside, more than he would have expected to find in Henrik’s fridge.  He could smell the scent of alcohol as soon as he stepped into the room.  Thankfully, there was a decent amount of food too, and it wasn’t just filled with bottles of booze.  

Henrik poured Misha a tall glass of the soda, and then poured himself half of one.  He filled the rest of his cup with some white wine.  It was a nice mix and it wasn’t pure alcohol: both plusses when a guest was around.

Misha’s eyes wandered to another bottle on the counter, one with a green liquid, and he moved in for a closer look.

”Absinthe?” He asked, carefully holding the bottle as he looked it over, “Thought was illegal.”

“What?  Oh, no, no,” Henrik said wondering when exactly Misha had wandered to his other side, because he hadn’t heard a sound, “It’s been legal for awhile.  It’s not a hallucinogenic either, before you ask.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Misha said as he put the bottle back down, “Do not know much about the drink.  Only name.  Now know color too.”

“Would you like to give it a try?” Henrik offered, holding out the glass of soda as he stepped closer to Misha.

“No, another night maybe, still have to drive home after this,” Misha said, “But thank you.”

“The couch is this way, follow me,” Henrik said, leading the two of them through a doorway, “How have you been, Misha?  Has it been difficult to to get through the night of paperwork without your coffee?”

Misha quietly surveyed the room as he stepped in, only half-thinking about Henrik’s question, noticing the violin case of the shelf and the dove cage in the corner of the room.  Distracted, it took him a moment to realize what the other man was asking him was meant to be a joke.  Considering the context of the line, it must be a painful joke for him to be making, most likely to help ease the uncomfortable awkwardness between them.  

He didn’t have to do that.  Mikhal didn’t want him to do that.

“Has been more difficult with not seeing you,” Misha said, watching Henrik move a pillow and blanket and find a seat on one end of the couch, “Have had you on my mind a lot.”

“Oh?  Have you?” Henrik asked with a curious raise of his brows.

“Yes, ah-” Misha stumbled over his words, unsure of what level of flirting, if any level, was acceptable right now, “You have, ah, been suffering with, uh, all things happening, yes?” 

“Well, I suppose...and I do appreciate your concern,” Henrik said, leaning comfortably back against the couch corner, “Have a seat, Misha.  Wherever you’d like.”

Misha hesitated for a moment, eyeing the seat.  Situations like this always made him feel fairly self conscious of his size.  Standing and taking control of a meeting was something he could easily do, it was a good use of his size, but sitting down with someone else, and probably laying down, too —  though he hadn’t tried that with anyone yet  —  only served to remind him of what a large giant he could be.  

He very well knew that one of the reasons, a very small reason, that he was attracted to Henrik was because the man could easily look him in the eyes.  He wasn’t uneasy around someone of Misha’s stature, and there was a very good chance that was because Henrik came near a similar height.  It wasn’t the sole reason that Mikhal found himself attracted to the other man, but it was a turn-on for him.

Carefully, Misha took a seat on the other end of the couch, sitting slowly so that he wouldn’t risk disturbing Henrik at all.  It wouldn’t do for him to take a seat and cause Henrik to spill his drink on himself, it just wouldn’t do at all.

Henrik noticed the hesitation, but he didn’t comment on it.  If the man was so uncomfortable being here, then why didn’t he just leave?  Henrik would have understood completely; he was hardly able to stand himself these days, he didn’t expect other people to go out of their way to.  Perhaps Misha was just that kind of person, the one who would do everything to help out someone that he called a friend, even if he didn’t feel exactly comfortable about it the whole time.

Mikhal’s pause gave Henrik time to look the man over.  Out of the months that they had known and talked to each other, Henrik had only seen Misha out of his work suit once.  That time could hardly be counted, though, because Henrik was hungover as hell and he could barely remember it.  Now, though, Misha had dressed nice in a far more casual way, with his red and black sweater and dark gray slacks.  It was a good look on the man.

Though, as Henrik took another sip of his drink, he idly wondered what Misha would look like with that sweater  _ off. _

“How’s your sister been?” Henrik asked after Misha was seated, “It was Zhanna, yes?  Is she doing alright?”

“Yes, was on phone with her for a while.  Was trying to help walk her through using a TV, to watch movie tonight,” Misha paused to talk a small sip of his drink, “...Am wondering if she accidentally bought porn.”

Henrik choked on his drink, covering his mouth as his shoulders shook slightly.

“She, ach- Pardon, sorry,” Henrik coughed a few times to clear his throat before continuing, “She may have what now?”

“Well, am not  _ sure  _ that she did, but movie was called ‘Nine Wild Nights’,” Misha explained, “Is either stupid comedy, or it is porn.”

“Not a fan of comedies?” Henrik asked.

“No, no, some are good, some are funny,” Misha explained, not having planned for this conversation either, “But only good ones are good.  Some are just...stupid, ugly, -ahn, what is right word? - and there is no point to give a bother about them.”

“Crass?  Is that the word you want?” Henrik asked, noticing the unfamiliarity with the word show on Misha’s face, “It means rude, crude, and, ah, insensitive.”

“Yes, is perfect word, crass,” Misha said, “Very shallow things.”

“Shallow is also a good word,” Henrik mused, “Of course, I think it would take a masterpiece of a movie to appeal to someone who reads classic Russian novels for fun and enjoyment.”

“You have noticed-?”

“You brought your books into the shop sometimes, like you forgot to put it down.  I’d see you in the lot, out the front window sometimes finishing up a chapter before you came in, sometimes finishing it before you started your car again,” Henrik said, “And you had that book you were reading the day you had to drive me to work, after you took me home that one time, though I never really saw anything you were reading.”

“You remember that day?”

“A bit.  Not completely clearly, but I do.” Henrik said, “I remember meeting Zhanna.”

“She is hard girl to forget.” Misha agreed, “So you remembered Zhanna, and you remembered the books?  Books are funny thing to remember, Henrik.”

“I-...hmm.  Are they?” Henrik asked, “I  _ may  _ have tried to find some to read so that we could talk about them.  We found other things to talk about, though, even if your books weren’t really ever it.”

“Can recommend some for you, if you want.” Misha offered quickly.

“I take it you know a lot of them?”

“Yes…” Misha paused, “Have degree in Russian Literature actually.”

“Do you?” Henrik asked, leaning forward, “That’s fascinating.  I might be asking for recommendations sometime, then.”

“Would be no problem,” Misha said, looking down in thought for a moment, “Henrik?”

“ _ Ja? _ ” 

“Have…” MIsha sighed, “You have not been angry with me, yes?”

“Angry?” Henrik asked, confused, “What reason would I have to be angry with you?”

“Last time we talked on phone was over two weeks ago.  Do not expect to gossip and laugh like Zhanna and the American man Jane do, but thought that you sounded very angry last time,” Misha said, “Have tried not to call and bother you because of it.”

“I’ve never been angry with you.  Not once,” Henrik said, frowning a little as he started talking too much, “I’ve just been...stressed,  Tense.  Scared.  I didn’t mean to take it out on you, and I’m sorry if I did.”

“Am glad that you aren’t angry.  Have missed talking to you so much,” Misha admitted, “Wasn’t sure what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Henrik reassured him, “I’ve just...been short on energy, especially with all of the phone calls and paperwork, and it’s hard to make myself talk to other people.  I’ve wanted to call you; I just couldn’t — I don’t know how to explain it any better than that.”

“You do look tired, should get some sleep,” Misha agreed, feeling terribly guilty now, “I will be going, so you can rest.”

“What?” Henrik started to panic as he watched Misha slowly start to stand up, “You’re leaving?  Already?”

His heart started to beat faster in his chest.  The thought that he had ruined the night already, while it was still so young, scared him.  He didn’t want Misha to leave yet; he had turned down another relationship for the man. Henrik didn’t want to be left alone again, not tonight, not like this.  

Please not like this.

Before he realized what he was doing, or the lack inhibition that he had, he placed his drink on the floor next to the couch and then nearly threw himself across the couch to get a hand on Misha’s arm, ready to do almost anything to halt the man’s ascent.

“Stay,” He said, unsure if it sounded more like a question, command, or a plea, “Mikhal, stay longer.  Please.”

With Henrik looking at him with desperate, tired, lonely eyes like that, there was no way in the world that Misha could say no.  That was the look of a scared man, the look of a man who needed a companion for a bit, who needed someone to be there for him and support him.

And, if nothing else, Misha was a man who was sturdy enough to offer any sort of support needed.

“Come, sit with me, talk,” Misha said, guiding Henrik back into a better sitting position, moving slowly as he put his drink by the side of the couch to reassure the man that he wasn’t going to jump and bolt next chance he got, “Talk, Henrik.  I am right here.”

“I-” Henrik was caught off-guard by everything that had just happened, what he had just done, and his alcohol-addled mind was struggling to catch up.  With regular conversation, it was fine, that was slow enough that he could follow it, but this was very different from a normal conversation.  

Well, it was  _ now. _

“I-...I don’t know what to say,” Henrik admitted with a shake of his head, “I don’t.”

“Then don’t.  You don’t need to,” Misha said simply, “Speak only when you want to.  I will be here.”

“Mmm hmm, alright,” Henrik said tiredly, “Will you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Henrik said as he leaned back against the couch, “I was hoping you’d be.”

It felt like everything that today had thrown at him was hitting him all at once, at the worst possible time.  It was like that mask that he attached whenever someone dropped by had come untied and slipped off his face, revealing far too much of himself to Misha far too soon.

Alcohol, admitted, was the lube that had loosened the strings of his mask, waxing them until they came undone and nothing could be hidden anymore.  Stress had frayed the ends until his rope was just thin, weak strings, and exhaustion had kept him from tying it properly in the first place.

He had ruined everything, ruined the chance of a relationship ever getting the chance to grow, and there was no one to blame but himself.

Tiredly, he sagged, basically falling over against Misha’s arm.  He started to push himself back up, before Mikhal could push him off, but then stopped.  The Russian had shifted his arm so that it slipped back over Henrik’s shoulders, and he gently pulled the man closer.

This was what he had needed in a partner.  Edith couldn’t offer him this kind of support, not to this extent, she was the one who had always needed it.  This is why he had to let her go.  This is why he had wanted Misha.  This, this,  _ this. _

“Misha,” The man’s name almost slipped out in a groan as a large hand began gently kneading at his upper back and shoulders, “I think I like you.”

“Think or know?” Misha asked, hand moving lower down Henrik’s back, “One is with head, the other is with heart.”

“I-” Henrik paused, making Misha stop and lift up his arm as Henrik sat up properly, “I think I know?”

“Is good enough,” Misha said, moving his large hand to gently cup the side of Henrik’s face instead.  He hadn’t planned for the action, it just happened.  He certainly hadn’t planned for Henrik to close his eyes and lean into it, desperate and eager for the gentle, loving touch.  That didn’t mean that he couldn’t keep going, though.  

This was amazing.  He was talking to _and_ touching the man.  Zhanna would be so proud of him.

His thumb gently rubbed along the sharp cheek bone, fingers toying with his thick, dark hair.  Slowly, he leaned forward, taking his time to gauge any and all reactions that would be telling him to stop, and brushed his lips against Henrik’s forehead.  His nose was tickled by the front curl of hair.

Receiving only a happy hum in reply, he moved down, planting a soft kiss on Henrik’s other cheek.  When he pulled back this time, he saw that the other man’s eyes were open, half-lidded, and watching him intently.

“Are you stopping there?” Henrik asked, a faint, teasing smile ticking at his lips.

“No,” Misha said, though he was moving even slower this time.  He had never ever kissed any other person on the mouth before, except for his mother.  Even if he still kissed her, this was very different.  It was romantic, new, exciting…

And very, very daunting.  

He had watched some romantic movies, so he had some idea about what to do, and he had seen Zhanna and Jane kiss, so he knew what not to do, but this was still a large step for the large man.  Henrik seemed to know what to do, as handsome as he was he had probably done this before, but it seemed like it would ruin the moment if Misha asked for any pointers.  It would probably also ruin the moment if he left Henrik there waiting.  He’d just wing it this time and see what happened.

As their lips got closer, he ran over a mental checklist.  The headtilt was important, to make sure that their faces didn’t collide, so he did that.  Eyes didn’t close until they were kissing, to make sure that they didn’t smack into each other or just flat out miss.  Speed was important, slow was better, to make sure that they didn’t awkwardly bump faces.  Then-

Henrik saying “Archimedes, no.” was not the next step.  It wasn’t any of them, actually.

Confused, Misha pulled back, dropped his hand to Henrik’s shoulder, and saw a dove sitting on Henrik’s other shoulder.  Despite the disappointment of not getting the kiss, he couldn’t help but see the amusement in the situation.

“Is your pet?” He asked, “Is beautiful bird.”

“Yes - go back to your cage or my scarf, you like my scarf, don’t you? -  Archimedes is-” He was interrupted by some cooing, “-not behaving right now.  Don’t you sass me.”

The bird cooed again and pulled at Henrik’s hair.

“Listen, Archimedes, I know that I’ve been ignoring you a bit today,  I’ll make it up-” Another coo. “Please just go to your cage.  I’ll give you a treat later if you do.”

Whether or not the bird understood the bribe she had just gotten, she paused only to examine Mikhal with her black, beady eyes before she flew back to the top of the bookcase, out of there way.

“Ha, birds,” Henrik said with a nervous smile, trying to play off the incident, “I am sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.  Nothing to be sorry about,” Misha said, fighting to keep himself from bursting out laughing.

First the violin had kept him from knocking earlier, and getting to see Henrik sooner, and now the birds were swooping in and flock-blocking him.  How could he not be amused?

“Are you still going to kiss me?” Henrik asked, “Or do you want to stop there?”

“Want kiss.”

“Oh good, I was hoping that you would,” Henrik said, “Really, really, very much hoping.”

With a soft grin, Misha leaned back in, going over his checklist once more, and gently pressed his lips and against Henrik’s.  Somehow, that bird had broken the tension enough that there was no pressure to make the kiss perfect, and that made it far easier for Misha to engage in the lip-lock.

It was a good kiss too, as far as Misha could tell anyway.  It was soft, warm, and very nice, something that he’d want to do again soon.

Right now would be nice, actually.  From what he could tell, and way that he was being looked at,Henrik was feeling the same way.

He moved in for another kiss, making sure to keep his grip on the other man loose in case he changed his mind, and their lips met once more.  He felt Henrik push harder into the kiss, the other man’s hand grabbing a fistful of his sweater, hungry for more.  A soft growl left Henrik as he pressed closer, and Misha swore that he had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life.

It felt amazing to Misha, wonderful, near indescribable.  No wonder couples were always kissing, if this is what it felt like.  He couldn’t blame them.  But, he had seen the movies, could it get better than this?

A hand slipped down low and an arm pulled Henrik almost into the other man’s lap.  Henrik’s arm went over Misha’s shoulder, holding on tight and keeping them close.  Misha’s hand held the back of Henrik’s head, slipping his tongue into his parted lips, ready to take this kiss to the next step.

He had seen the movies.  It was supposed to be amazing, the kiss to end all kisses, they were supposed to never want to part, not even for air, because the feeling was supposed to be the best.

But all Misha could do was taste  _ alcohol  _ on his tongue.  

All that did was serve as a reminder that Henrik was drunk.  He was taking advantage of a drunk man, a man was had hit his lowest point and was desperate.  Misha was taking advantage of that.  He didn’t want to do that.

A voice in the back of his head told him that there was a chance the only reason that Henrik was kissing him was because he was drunk.  The man was wearing more than beer-goggles, he was wearing wine-goggles, vodka-goggles, and absinthe-goggles. He couldn’t be seeing clearly at this point, or thinking clearly either.  

If he was sober he wouldn’t want you, the voice said, if he were sober, he wouldn’t be pulling himself into your lap, he’d still be on his side of the couch.

The taste of alcohol burned on his tongue, his stomach felt as if it had been sucker-punched  This felt so wrong now, now that he had tasted how drunk Henrik was.  As much as Misha had been enjoying himself, he knew that things should go no further.

He respected Henrik far too much to take things any further than this, than to take advantage of the man when his was this low in his life, and drunk off his face.  The thought of it made him feel dirty, ill;  Mikhal wasn’t that type of person and he never wanted to be.

If the two of them were meant to ever be together, then it wasn’t going to be like this.  Drunkedness and exhaustion deprived a man of a sound mind, leaving him more able to react to need than to take the time for proper thoughts.  Their first time, their  _ real  _ first time, was going to be something special.  It wasn’t going to be an attempt at some sort of healing sex.  Sex like this, with the things they were tonight, wasn’t going to make things better for anyone. 

So he would wait.  Mikhal was a patient man, he could wait for a better time.

Getting Henrik off of his lap and off of his lips was going to be a different story though.  The German’s hand was holding on tight to the back of his sweater, his other was kneading at his torso, lightly grabbing and pulling at his shirt and skin.  Mikhal couldn’t help but wonder if the hands were to keep the two of them close, or if it was because Henrik was scared of being left alone again.  Misha was being looked at with what he assumed were bedroom eyes, the term had never made sense before now, but all he saw was the desperate need to be loved, even if just for a night.

He’d have to be absolutely mad to say “no” to this

But he did.

Slipping his hands back down, he hoisted the other man closer against him, encouraging him to wrap his legs around.  It took one, two, three times before Misha managed to stand up properly, trying to find the right amount of power and balance to stand with the other man in his arms.  

Henrik wasn’t the easiest man to carry, not with his six or so foot frame and sturdy build, but Misha could manage.  As long as he kept a good grip on the other man’s behind, and Henrik kept a good grip on him, Misha could manage. 

Though he preferred to help carry people emotionally, with his powerful build, it wasn’t too much of a stretch for him to do it physically as well. 

Mikhal headed further into the apartment, the other man still pulling him into a kiss.  Though he hadn’t been given a tour of the place, he felt it was safe to assume that the man’s bedroom was somewhere back here.

His hand turned a knob on the first door that he found.  Henrik shifted in his hands, humming softly in contentment as he started to kiss Misha’s neck.  Distracted by the sensation, Misha almost walked the two of them into closet, but he managed to stop short at the last second.

The next door he tried lead into a bathroom, and he paused briefly to deposit Henrik on the linoleum, only to readjust his grip and pick him right back up again.  There was another door in the bathroom, a bigger one than the obvious closet behind him, but he opted to ignore it.  There was a good chance it would take him to the bedroom, but he didn’t want to risk being wrong and trying to either turn around or back out of the small bathroom.  He instead left while he was still near the door.

The next door he tried, thankfully, lead to the bedroom.  He misjudged the distance to the bed, vision obscured by the drunk kisser in his arms, and his shin collided with the mattress frame.  Though he had intended to be far gentler, he ended up dropping Henrik onto the bed instead.  In the back of his mind, he felt that at least made them more even for the situation Henrik had gotten him into.

“Misha?” Henrik asked with a loose, lopsided grin, “Joining me?”

“No, Henrik,” Misha said, trying to push aside the guilt he felt when he saw Henrik’s smile fall, “I am leaving.  Good night.”

“What?” Henrik quickly tried to scramble upright, “Misha- Ah, Misha, no.  No, no. Don’t.”

“Am sorry,” Misha said, fighting to keep his face impassive, “Have to be going now.”

“No, you don’t.  The only reason you’d have to leave is because I’m making you.  I’m not,” Henrik said in annoyance, sliding off of the bed and standing upright, “No, you  _ want  _ to leave, Misha, you just  _ want  _ to leave.” 

“Not really,” Misha admitted, “But cannot keep going like this.  Not tonight.”

What did I do?” Henrik asked him, reaching out an arm but stopping when the other man leaned back, “Mikhal, what did I do?”

“Did not do anything, not really-”

“You didn’t like it.  It didn’t feel right, did it?  You realized that you were kissing another man, that’s it isn’t it?” Henrik asked, nervously laughing, “You want to back-out before you even get in.  You want to end it before it starts, like the brilliant, sensible idiot you are.”

“Henrik-”

“I knew it.  I knew you were too good to be true.  I knew it wouldn’t last, I just didn’t think it’d be over before it began.” 

“Hen-”

“I gave her up for you, you know.  I thought we had a chance to make it work.” Henrik said, hand swiping back through his hair, “Thought, anyway.  Thought we did.”

“Gave who-”

“I’m a fool.  God, I’m a fool.  Fools rush in, you know, and I fell for you.  After I knew you, I fell so hard,” Henrik said with a laughing, falling back to sit on the bed, “Are you telling me that you didn’t feel it?  Did it not feel right at all?  Why?  Tell me, please.”

Misha, tired of watching Henrik panic and emotionally combust, he stepped forward, placed his hands on Henrik’s shoulders, and leaned to look at the man.

“Don’t you bend over and patronize me-” Henrik said with a growl, quieting when he felt a gentle kiss being placed on his forehead.

“Henrik, you are love second, but friend first.  Do not want to hurt friend,” Misha said calmly, “Kiss felt very good, was best kiss I have...kissed, but I like you too much to go further and risk making love to you right now.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you have to leave-”

“Have to.  Do not want to keep going.”

“We’ll stop, we’ll stop right now, go no further, but stay the night,” Henrik said, “Can you stay the night, Misha?”

Misha paused as he stood back upright, thinking about the offer.

“Do you-”

“Please?” Henrik interrupted, “Just for tonight?  I won’t ask you to again if you do.”

“Okay,” Misha sighed, “But might leave if you try to do anything else.”

“I understand.  I won’t,” Henrik said, “Just sleep.

“Just sleep?”

“Just sleep” Henrik confirmed, “Come lay down.”

Hesitating, and taking time to take off his shoes, Misha carefully joined the other man, who looked halfway asleep already, on the bed.

“Stay on your side,” He reminded Henrik.

“Will do.” Henrik mumbled back.

Misha pulled the blanket over Henrik, watching the other man’s eyes start to close.  Waiting, he made sure that Henrik was asleep before he pulled out his phone, placing a quick, quiet call back home before he laid down.  He made sure to turn away from the man, face the wall instead, as he drifted off to sleep.

Sometime in the night, he was awoken by an arm wrapping over his middle, hand loosely grabbing his shirt, and a body lightly pressing up behind.

“Henrik,” Misha rumbled tiredly, “Sides.”

“Just let me hold you, Misha.  I...need to hold someone right now,” Henrik said, his voice sounded choked, “Just-...Just for tonight, let me hold you.  One night is all I ask for.”

Misha didn’t respond, instead staying awake to make sure that a hug was all that he was getting.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Henrik, but rather that he didn’t trust the alcohol in his system.

Henrik, not getting a response from Misha, except for the tenseness that indicated that the other man was awake, slowly let go and started to pull his arm back.  A large hand on top of his made him stop though.

“It’s fine,” Misha said, his back still turned. 

“Is it?” Henrik asked, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

The quiet between them lingered for a moment, with just the sound of breathing to fill it.

“Misha?” Henrik murmured, breaking the quiet.

“ _ Da? _ ”

“I’m sorry.  I-”

“I know.”

Henrik bit his tongue after that.  He wanted to ask if Misha loved him, if he even had a chance anymore or if he had blown it all tonight.  In the two instances to see each other outside of work, Henrik had been drunk off of his ass during both of them.  Misha had to be getting tired of it and of him.

Save for the arm looped over the other man, the rest of the night passed in a vague blur for Henrik.  He vaguely remembered the scent of the other man, the feel of his sweater, the warmth from his body.  He vaguely remembered having to rush to the bathroom to throw up, the booze finally hitting him late into the night.  He remembered a hand gently rubbing circles on his back, wiping at his face with a damp cloth, strong arms helping him walk to bed, another kiss on the forehead, a thumb rubbing his cheek.

He vaguely remembered making a fool of himself the whole night, how he had been a needy, clingy, begging fool, and how he had ruined everything and the chance of anything.

That’s why it was no surprise that, when he woke up in bed the cold morning, Henrik was alone.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'Intergalactic Slapfight'" - 7.8 / 10, too much sand." - Beta.
> 
> Fun useless facts for you guys:
> 
> I typo’d up the first CPB meme by accident. Join the Scout-putting craze -  
> http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/139945587292/you-know-how-when-youre-writing-and-only-half
> 
> Songs listened to while writing/editing at a computer (vs a phone) and # of times repeated-  
> Out of the Woods by T-Swizzle x 47  
> Jenny by Studio Killers x 40  
> Roses by Chainsmokers x 54  
> FNAF World Rap by JT Machinima x 14 (for when I needed to cheer myself up)  
> PoW! by FEMM x 40 (editing tune)  
> Pulses by Karmin x 57 (editing)
> 
> Probs delete this later, and at least add something else when I think of it, but I've got a mad high ListenonRepeat score now. I'll add more notes if I think of any.
> 
> Thanks for being patient, and for checking out the fic! =)


	10. Just Keep Grinning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up alone in bed is never a good way to start the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also on tumblr here: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/142220352967/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-10  
> Likes and reblogs are appreciated, but by no means required.
> 
> Thanks for being patient. I meant for this to be posted a few days ago, but life. Also it went a slightly different direction than I had in mind, which slowed me down, but I'm quite happy with where it went.
> 
> This chapter is unbeta'd. I did read it over and attempt to catch my mistakes, but I can't promise that it's perfect. I will be going over it again later, when I have some free time, but I'd rather you all get the chapter sooner rather than me holding it longer to go over it again. Thanks for understanding.

When Henrik woke up in the morning, he wished that he hadn’t.  He wished that last night had just been a dream gone wrong.  He wished that he hadn’t ruined his chance with Misha.  He wished that spot in the bed next to him wasn’t cold and empty.

Too bad that wishes never came true.

But, maybe, it was a good thing that the spot next to Henrik was indeed empty when he slammed his fist down on the spot in sad frustration.  He was angry at Misha for leaving, but he was more angry at himself for making the man want to leave.

Sinking his head back into the pillow, he sighed, smacking the spot beside him one more time before he moved his arm down over his eyes.  A moment later, he picked it up and looked at the sleeve.  His shirt was green, dark green.  He had been wearing a white shirt yesterday, and now he was wearing green.  

Last night hadn’t just been a strange dream; he had actually sprinted to the bathroom to throw up his liquid therapy.  Then Misha had not only half-carried him back to bed, which was embarrassing enough, but he had also helped change his shirt afterward.

Good God, Henrik had changed the mood from romantic to pathetic in a blink of an eye.  Probably had dropped his romantic prospects down to zero too.  How wonderful.

He didn't want to get up.  He just wanted to lay in bed forever, and forget the world, forget what had happened.  It would be impossible to forget what he remembered of the night, but he could hope.

His head hurt, his body hurt, his face hurt, and his heart hurt.  He really didn't want to get up.

But him wanting to quit had never stopped him before. It wouldn’t be stopping him now.  

With a sigh, he slowly sat up, trying to crack his stiff neck.  Throwing the blanket off of himself, he stumbled out of bed, heading to the bathroom.

He tried splashing water on his face, trying to wake himself up.   It didn’t help much, but Henrik did succeed in soaking his shirt and the counter with the droplets.  Burying his face into a towel, he looked into the mirror and frowned at his reflection.

He hated that other man in the mirror.  He hated the sour look on his face, the bags beneath his eyes, and the sad, scared look in his eyes.  He hated everything about the person he saw, how he always ruined anything that was good.  

He hated all of it so much right now.  

Throwing the towel down, and not caring where it landed, he stormed back out of the bathroom back into his room, stepping from the linoleum to the adjacent carpet in just a few steps.  The drawers in his dresser were opened and then slammed shut as he looked for a different shirt because he didn’t want to wear this one anymore right now.  All it did was remind him what a fool he had been.

Despite his wants, though, he was too upset and frustrated to focus on something even as simple as finding a different article of clothing.  Even being in the room, one where he had woken up alone yet again, was too much for him right now.  

Grabbing his glasses, he headed for the door to his bedroom, pausing only to punch the wall with his free hand in frustration.  The wall deserved it.  That was why he had hit it.  It wasn’t so that he could cause himself some sort of pain to both simultaneously punish himself and also try to break through the layer of numb denial seeping into his bones, no.  The wall had looked at him funny.  That’s why.

What was he even going to do?  He didn’t want to hang around his apartment, because that would only just remind him how much he had screwed up last night.  He’d have to step out for a bit, even if he didn’t actually want to.  Putting on his coat and stepping out for something, anything, should help him get his mind off of things, even if only for a few minutes.  Finding his coat would be his first step, unfortunately which would delay him a few minutes.

Perhaps it was on the counter?  It could be in the living room, on the table, on the couch, or somewhere else.  There was a good chance it had fallen on to the floor too, or that he had just dumped it there.  One time before, after looking for an hour for his coat, he had found it in the refrigerator, so he’d have to check there too.  Another time, believe it or not, he had actually found it in the couch.  That was something he still hadn’t found an explanation for, though it still bothered him sometimes.

But when he stepped out into the living room, and saw Archimedes perched on the shoulder of a very tall man who was standing in front of his bookcase, the case of the teleporting coat suddenly didn’t interest him very much.

“Misha?” He said quietly, hoping that he wasn’t just drunkenly hallucinating.  If he was drunkenly hallucinating, though, he wouldn’t mind if it stayed like this for a bit.  It was nice to have some company, even if it was just in his head.

“Did you run into wall again?  Heard a thud.” Misha asked patiently, looking up at Henrik from the book in his giant hands.

“No, I-...Again?” Henrik asked, daring to take a step closer.

“You ran into wall last night, running to bathroom.” Misha said, “Almost knocked self out.”

“That explains why my face hurts,” Henrik said slowly, frowning at the event being relayed to him.

“Probably,” Misha said simply, looking back towards the book.  Archimedes, possibly bored by the lack of hair to pull on Misha’s head, flew over and landed on Henrik’s shoulder.  She cooed gently as Henrik absentmindedly stroked her head, the motion helping him calm down slightly.

“How is your head?” Misha asked, still apparently reading the book.  If he was looking at Henrik, then he was only looking out of the corner of his eye.  It made the German feel like a child who was being reprimanded.  It was not a feeling that he was a fan of and he wanted to put a stop to it.

“It’s fine enough.  Are you enjoying the book?” Henrik asked starting to step closer, tilting his head to try to see the title, “Is that Les Miserables?”

“Yes, found it on the shelf,” Misha said as he closed the book and slid it back into its spot, “Looks like an interesting book.”

“You’re welcome to borrow it if you want,” Henrik said, thrilled to take the conversation to a more normal avenue, “It’s certainly not the most...uplifting tale, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not good.”

“Might have to borrow it.  Later.” Misha said, finally looking over at Henrik, “Did you sleep well?”

“Aside from from running into a wall and having to be dragged or carried back to bed?” Henrik asked, “It could have been better.”

“I am sorry-”

“I mean that last night could have been better.” Henrik said quickly, “It was entirely my fault that it went the wayward path it did.  There’s not a thing to blame on you.”

“Would not say that there is nothing to blame on me, Henrik.” Misha said stiffly, an unsure, guilty look crossing his face.

“Are you asking me to try to think of a way to blame you for something?” Henrik asked slowly, “It’s too early in the morning for me to think that much.  After breakfast, maybe, I’ll see if I can come up with something.  Not now, though.”

A smile almost ticked on Misha’s face.  Almost.  He was still supposed to be angry, or annoyed, or something.  He was, wasn’t he?  He thought he was.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be feeling after last night, especially when the conversation was getting smoother as they talked.

“How did you sleep, Misha?” Henrik asked, “I imagine that it wasn’t the best sleep that you’ve ever had.”

“Well, no,” Misha answered, “But could have been worse than sleeping next to a handsome man.  Could have been better without the waking up, wall smacking, and...that, but wasn’t too bad.”

“As long as you’ve had worse, then I’m happy,” Henrik said, quickly adding, “Not happy that you’ve had worse, but rather that I wasn’t the worse night of sleep that you’ve ever had.  I didn’t mean to wish worse on you, Mikhal, but I was just saying-”

“Henrik, I understand.  There is no need to explain.” Misha said patiently, “Sleep was alright.”

“Mmm, I’m glad to hear that,” Henrik said, pausing, “But, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you still here, Misha?”

“Because I did not leave.”

“Yes, but why didn’t you?” Henrik asked, taking another step closer, “You wanted to last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Misha admitted slowly, “But it was because I didn’t want to hurt you.  Then I stayed because I wanted to make sure that you didn’t get hurt.”

Henrik’s brows knit together, and he looked down at the ground away from Misha as he pondered the man’s words.

“...Why?” He finally asked, looking back at Misha, “Why do you care so much?”

It was Misha’s turn to pause and look away, glancing at the bookshelf as if he hoped that it held a  reason for him to offer.

“It is because...I care, Henrik,” Misha said, “Because I care about you as a person, one who is important to me, and I want to make sure that you are okay and help anyway that I can.  That is why.”

“Ah.”  Henrik glanced to the side, staying quiet as he pondered.  He was lucky that Mikhal was even still here.  If he wanted to make sure the man was going to stay, and possibly even want to come back, he was going to have to do a better job of being friendly and probably more positive as well.  The easiest way to do that would be to go into what Scout called his “barista mode”, where he was positive, friendly, and all smiles in the name of satisfied customers and sales.

The difference here was that he himself was the item he was trying to sell.  It would probably be easier to sell a mocha than it was a man.

“Have you been up long?” He asked with a bright smile, trying to cover for the awkward silence that he had left hanging.

“Have been awake for a bit,” Misha said, carefully studying Henrik,  “Just relaxed out here with the birds.  Was no big deal.”

“You don’t have to be anywhere today?” Henrik asked, “Do you have time for breakfast?  We can be even on that front.”

“You do not have to do that,” Misha told him.

“No, but I want to,” Henrik said, hesitating and letting his smile slip for only a moment, “Only if you want to stay for it, that is.”

Misha squinted his eyes slightly in thought, looking up as he pondered the offer, the look on his face unreadable to Henrik.

“If you are wanting to, then yes, I will stay,” Misha said, “As long as it is not an inconvenience to you.”

“Mikhal, if it were an inconvenience to me, I wouldn’t have offered,” Henrik said, “Take a seat, go back to reading the book, any book, if you wish, I’m going to go make something for us to eat.  Sit down and relax, Misha, I insist.  I’m going to take care of it.”

At first, the Russian wanted to argue with Henrik, to offer to help him, but he stayed quiet.  Clearly, the man wanted to do this by himself, possibly to try to make up for last night, not that Misha was going to presume anything.  If that’s what Henrik wanted, then that’s what he would get.

A moment after Mikhal sat down, Henrik emerged from the kitchen and placed Archimedes down near her cage, but not inside, letting the bird decide what she wanted to do.

“She likes to dive into the food, especially the jam,” Henrik explained as he headed back to the kitchen, “I think she likes to be a bit dirty.”

“Is she the only one?” Misha asked innocently.

“The other birds tend to stay cleaner than her…” Henrik paused, looking over at Misha, “Mind out of the gutter, Misha.”

“Never said it was in the gutter.” Misha asked, a smile threatening to break the innocent look on his face.

Henrik looked like he was about to start an argument with Misha, but he stopped, deciding that whatever point he was going to make wasn’t worth pursuing.  Instead, he asked Misha something else.

  
“Are you alright with scrambled eggs, toast, and some sausage?” He asked, “I’m afraid that I’m not exactly stocked with options.”

“That sounds good,” Misha said with a slight grin.

“Good, good,” Henrik said as he headed back to the kitchen, “Then it will just be a few minutes.”

Misha wanted to open his mouth and say something, asking why Henrik was so eager to make breakfast when he was probably exhausted, but he didn’t.  What they had going right now was nice, and he wasn’t in the mood to ruin it quite yet.

While Henrik went to work in the kitchen, Misha stood and surveyed the titles and items on the bookshelf.  There he saw the violin case, he looked it over.  It was older and well cared for, despite the cracks starting to show on the faux leather.  Part of him wished to see the instrument, to see if it really was just a regular violin that had been playing that masterful, melancholic tune last night, but he knew better than to dare touch it.

No, no, he wasn’t going to do that.  He would instead just find a book to read, because there were a few interesting titles on the shelf to check out.  

While Misha was looking over the titles, Archimedes flew over and landed on Misha’s shoulder.  She cooed gently as Misha carefully pulled a tightly-wedged older book of German fairytales off the shelf.  A slim, framed picture that had been stuffed between the book and the shelf wall slipped out and fell onto the ground.   

Bending down slowly, Misha carefully picked up the picture.  When he flipped it over, Misha saw that it was a picture of a younger Henrik and a blonde woman, both smiling with their eyes and holding each other close.  

Who was she?

“I gave her up for you.”

Part of Henrik’s plea from last night echoed in Misha’s head.  Was this the woman that Henrik claimed to have given up?

Why would he have done that?  They looked so happy together.  There was no reason for him to ruin what it looked like he had before.

Misha had been looking over the pic far longer than he intended, taking in the details such as their golden wedding bands, the rosy tinge on her cheeks, and the smile on his lips as he gave her a soft kiss, when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Misha, if you'd like to take a seat, the food's mostly made,” Henrik said as he stepped closer, wondering what Misha had just hurriedly placed back on the shelf, “What were you looking at?”

“Just a picture, “ Misha said quickly, watching as Henrik stepped closer to the shelf, “It fell when I pulled out book.”

“I forgot I even had this picture, or that I...hid it there, “ Henrik said as he picked it up from the shelf, “It's probably been there for years.”

“Years?” Misha asked, “Why did you hide it for so long?  Who is that?”

“That’s my ex-wife, Edith.  We’ve been divorced for a few years and separated even longer,” Henrik explained, “When she first left, I...moved some pictures out of sight.  Then I just forgot about them, apparently.  I wonder where the others are?”

Henrik straightened the picture, hand lingering on it for a moment before he let it go and smiled gently at Misha.

“Are you going to come to the kitchen?” Henrik asked, putting a hand on Misha’s arm.  Before he could react, the giant pulled him into a short, soft, unexplained hug.  It wasn’t short enough.  Henrik stayed tense for the minute, probably less, that Misha had been holding on to him.

“We can talk more over breakfast.” Henrik said after the man let go, this time almost pushing Misha ahead of him.

Misha let himself be guided to the kitchen, pausing only to place the book back down on the shelf.  He took a seat at the small table, watching as Henrik checked the sausage he had left simmering on the stove.

“How long were you married?” Misha asked as Henrik started to put a plate together, “If you do not mind the question.”

“Years.  We wed right after college,” Henrik said simply, “We’ve also been apart for years as well.  Divorced for a while.  It wasn’t meant to be.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.  There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Henrik said as he placed two plates down on the table, “Is there anything else you’d like?  A drink?”

“No, you have done enough,” Misha said.

“Nothing?” Henrik asked, “I can get you some water, tea, coffee...It’s been awhile since I made you some coffee.”

“Would you like to?” Misha asked.

“I’m going to make some for myself, I thought it was only fair to offer.” Henrik said with a shrug as he headed back over to the counter.  Misha watched as Henrik started to fill up the pot with water, pausing for only a moment, mind moving faster than he would let on, before he spoke.

“Okay, I will take a small cup,” He said, “Henrik, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“The cup’s clean, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Henrik said quickly, turning around to wait while waiting for the water to boil, “...What did you want to ask?”

“You have had wife, yes?” Misha asked while putting his fork down.

“Yes,” Henrik said slowly, “Why?”

“Were you-” Misha paused, causing Henrik’s brows to raise in curiousity, “Were you good at buying gifts for her?”

“I was alright, I suppose,” Henrik said with a slightly amused grin, caught off-guard by the question, “She liked most presents I bought, at least a bit.  I could have done better with the shopping sometimes, but what man can’t say that?”

“So you are good with shopping?” Misha asked, “Do you have any free time today?”

“I might.  Why?” Henrik asked, annoyed that the pot of coffee just finished brewing and now was a distraction from the conversation.

“Christmas is coming and I want to get good gifts that year.” Misha explained, “Usually just get sweaters and other warm clothes.”

“And this year you want to do something more, yes?  I can imagine that Zhanna is tired of sweaters if that’s all you ever get her, though you do pick out some comfortable ones.” Henrik asked, pouring them both cups of coffee, “So you want my help in picking out a gift for Zhanna?”

“Yes, but not just her,” Misha said, “Also her, and Yana, and Bronislava, my sisters, and my mother.  All of them.”

“You have three sisters?” Henrik asked, bringing the cups to the table, “Who’s the oldest?”

“I am.  Then Zhanna.  Then Yana.  Bronislava is youngest,” Misha said, “They have lived in Russia their whole lives, near logging camp, so I want to get them a special gift this year to celebrate their coming to a new country.”

“Ah, I understand.  You’re a good brother,” Henrik said, “I did manage to get a lot of work done yesterday.  I’m mostly waiting for replies so...I suppose I do have some free time today, if you think I can help you any.”

Misha smiled at his words, though it was clear that he was fighting to keep his face neutral.

“Yes, I think you can help me very much, Henrik,” Misha said as he slowly pushed his chair back,, “Excuse me a moment.  Going to bathroom.  I’ll be right back.”

Misha walked out of the room, and Henrik took a sip of coffee as he watched him leave.  The German took advantage of the quiet to eat some of his breakfast.  When Misha was still gone by the time he finished, Henrik put his plate on the counter and went to go look for the man.

He found the bathroom door shut and locked and, if he listened carefully, he could hear some quiet talking taking place on the other side of the door.

“-Am sick today,” Misha said, offering a weak, fake cough as ‘proof’, “Very sick.”

There was a pause.

“Okay, no, but I want to take sick day.  Personal reasons.” Misha said, unaware Henrik listening on the other side of the door “Will see what I can do about raise.  I make no promises...Thank you.”

Henrik waited only a moment, pondering over what he had just heard, before he quietly walked back to the kitchen.  He had thought that Misha had the day off already, not that the man would have to take some off for him.  Why was he doing that for him?  

Granted, he wanted to spend time with the man - he was thrilled that he was even around after last night - but was him taking time off from work okay?  What did he even do for a living?

When Misha returned to the kitchen, Henrik was just sitting at the table, waiting and trying not to look like a kid who was struggling to keep a secret but somehow just managing.  Even though he was excited, especially because Misha still wanted to spend time with him,  he still had to act like an adult, unfortunately.

“Are you hoping to go Christmas shopping after breakfast?” Henrik asked Misha, a smile lighting up his face, “I can go get dressed while you’re finishing up breakfast.”

“We can go anytime,” Misha said as he took his seat, “If right now works for you, then it is perfect.  If a little later works, then it is just as good.”

“Then I’m going to go change now.  I’ll be right back,” Henrik said, standing up and leaving before Misha could say anything else, “If you finish, just leave the plate on the counter.  I’ll take care of it when I come back.”

It didn’t take too long for Henrik to get changed and ready to go.  Next to no thought was put into picking out a dress shirt, or picking out a sweater to wear over it.  He quickly knotted a tie around his throat to make it look like he had put half a thought into his outfit.  Certainly no thought was put into picking out an exciting pair of black slacks, so he had to put some effort in somewhere to make it look like he hadn’t just rolled out of bed.  Especially because he had basically just rolled out of bed.  

A quick trip to the bathroom to to wash his face, brush his teeth, and check his hair and he was on his way back to Misha.  The Russian was finishing up the last of his coffee when Henrik stepped back into the room and scooped up the plates on table.  Rolling up his sleeves, he began washing the dishes while starting up a conversation with Misha.

“What are your sisters like?” Henrik asked, adding, “That’ll help with picking out gifts.”

  
“You have met Zhanna.  What else is there to say about her?” Misha asked in amusement, “Yana is quiet girl.  The sweetest one, the one with the heart of a nurse and a love of animals, though they are all good girls.”

“And Bronislava?” Henrik asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Ah, she had more attitude than Zhanna and a mouth to match.  Adventurous attitude.  She is tomboy, Zhanna is not quite tomboy, and Yana is more girl-like.”

“Ah.” Henrik said as he stacked the clean plates and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as he looked over at Misha, “You’ve got three different personalities to buy for this year.  I see the difficulty.  We best get started soon, shouldn’t we?”

Misha hesitated only a moment, distracted by how Henrik looked with his sleeves partially rolled up, responded with a nod.

“Yes,” Misha said as he stood up, confusion growing on his brow as he watched Henrik instead walk back into his living room.  Hadn’t the man just said that they should be going?  Why was he going back further into his apartment?

“Downtown might be a good place to go.  They have a lot of unique stores down there.” Henrik said, silently calling to Archimedes with a crook of his fingers.  The bird landed on his shoulders and he gently picked her up, gave her a soft kiss on the head, and put her in cage with the others.  Once she was locked up, he headed back into the kitchen with Misha, and then grabbed his coat that was on his counter.

“Do you know how cold it is out?” Henrik asked.

“Is going to be snowing on and off today.” Misha replied, pulling on his own coat.

“Ah, so fairly cold,” Henrik said as he pulled a scarf off of the coat hanger by the door, one that he never actually used for coats, “Do you have a hat?”

“No, I do not need-” Misha was cut off by Henrik nearly thrusting a dark toque into his hands.

“Take this, Misha, to help keep your head warm,” Henrik said giving him a soft smile, as he wrapped a red and yellow scarf around his throat.

“Henrik, I-”

“I don’t if you’ve noticed, but you don’t have much to keep your head warm otherwise.” Henrik said with a teasing grin, “Just put it on, Misha, would you?”

Seeing no reason to argue, and distracted by the handsome man smiling at him, Misha simply put on the hat, even though he felt the red and yellow would go better with Medic’s scarf.  Ah, what did it matter?  It was going to keep his head warm, and it made Henrik smile, why would he argue?

“Do you not have gloves?” Misha asked as he pulled his out of his pocket.

“I do, somewhere, but I’m afraid that Archimedes must be borrow them for the moment,” Henrik noticed the slight frown on Misha’s face, “Don’t worry, I’ll manage.  That’s what pockets are for.”

Misha was going to point out that, no, not really, that’s not what pockets were really meant for, but he didn’t.  He would have offered Henrik his own gloves, but they were too big for the other man to easily wear.  

Maybe he’d have the chance to help warm his hands later, even.

“How many cars do you want to take?” Henrik asked, opening and holding the door for Misha,  “We each have one, but it seems silly to take two.”

“It does.” Misha agreed as he stepped out into the hall and followed Henrik towards the stairs, “We can take mine, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, sure, that’s good,” Henrik said, quickly walking down the stairs and he pulled on his coat, “Where were you hoping to go?  The mall?”

“Do you think the mall’s a good choice?”

“Do you want to head into and fight a crowd?” Henrik asked, “I imagine that the mall’s going to be packed soon, but we can give it a try if you want.”

Misha pondered the choices as they headed downstairs, always preferring to think before he spoke.  He unlocked the car, and the two of them were seated and buckled in before he spoke again.  

“Maybe start at the mall, see if it’s crowded this early in the morning, then try downtown if there’s still time,” Misha decided.  He had never been a fan of the mall, but there was no denying that the place would at least offer a good selection to try to figure gifts out.  If anything, it would be a nice way to spend the day.

The drive started out quietly, almost as quietly as the last time that Henrik had ridden in Misha’s car.  The Russian actually glanced over a few times to make sure that Henrik was actually still awake.

“Did you say that you used to live near a logging camp?” Henrik finally asked.

“Da.  Yes, ah, my father worked on one for a while,” Misha answered, “I worked with him sometimes, until he was killed in an accident.  We lived there for only a little longer after that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Henrik said quickly, “I had no idea.  I didn’t mean to make you talk about something like that.”

“It has been years.” Misha said, “That does not mean that it does not hurt, but it hurts less.  Time heals some wounds, but it does not fill the holes left.  But it still helps.  I do not blame you for asking.”

“What was it like in the camp?” Henrik asked, searching for a subject change that wasn’t too obvious.

“Cold.  Some men were friendly, some were not,” Misha said with a shrug, checking behind them before he shifted over a lane, “We did not stay long after that.  I wanted to get my mother and sisters away from there, to keep them safe.”

“I take it you didn’t trust the other men around your female family?” Henrik asked, “That would explain why you were always getting them clothes.”

“It is not that I did not trust them, but rather that I could not risk it, not if I wanted to keep them safe.” Misha said, as he pulled into the mall’s parking lot, “If there was a chance that a snake was deadly, would you even let one come close enough that they could bite?”

“Ah, I understand.  You can never tell what someone is going to be like.  One bad bite can stain the reputation of the bunch,” Henrik said, “What did you do after you left the camp?”

“I helped my family move, got them settled in to the new house, and went to college some years later and I saved up enough money,” Misha said, “Nothing that exciting.”

“No college adventures?” Henrik asked, almost using mischievous tone.

“I have a degree in Russian Literature,” Misha replied with a smile, “You tell me what adventures I could get into with a study group like that.”

“Point taken,” Henrik said, surveying the delightfully not full parking lot, “Which sister do you want to start with?”

“Zhanna.” Misha said as he managed to find a spot fairly quickly, “She keeps asking if I’ve gotten her a present yet.  I want to see her face when I finally say ‘yes’.”

“Do you think she’ll give you any peace until she figures out what it is?” Henrik asked as they exited the car.

“No, but at least I’ll be asked new questions,” Misha said as he locked the car and started walking towards the mall with Henrik, “I might just tell her that it’s a sweater.”

“That’ll show her,” Henrik laughed, “So what type of gift are you looking for her?  Clothes?  Dishes?  Tools?”

“Um, she wants something new.  She’s been devouring culture since she arrived,” Misha as they stepped inside the building, “She’s also finding a love for bright colors, especially pink.”

“Something new, bright, and fun?” Henrik mused, peering in the windows as they walked by, “Do you want her to have something that she can use with Jane?”

“Meaning?” Misha asked slowly.

“A game or something fun for new couples,” Henrik said quickly as he saw Misha raise his brow, “Nothing like that, more innocent than what you’re thinking.  I’m not getting involved in someone else’s sex life.”

“Especially one as active as hers,” Misha sighed, “What are you thinking?”

“Two-part gifts.  Bathrobe, brightly colored, and bath set.  That’s usually a safe bet,” Henrik said, “Then something more exciting.  I don’t know yet.”

“That’s fine.  Take your time,” Misha said, “There is no need to rush.”

There wasn’t.  He was perfectly happy to spend time just walking and talking with Henrik.  It was amazing that he was getting to spend time with him after weeks of near silence.  Even if that time was spent just walking around a mall, trying to think of gifts to get for Misha’s family, it was a good way to spend a morning.

They popped into a store that seemed geared towards women.  Pointing towards the jewelry with a question in his eyes, Misha shrugged and the two of them wandered over there.  They wouldn’t know if something was gift material or not unless they checked it out.

Misha wandered over to the earrings, looking them over as he wondered why people wanted to put holes in their heads.  Henrik stayed a few feet away, looking over the rings, wondering if Misha’s sisters also shared his hand size.  When he had met Zhanna, he hadn’t thought to check out her hands.

While he was holding a ring up, debating if asking about hand size was rude, a blonde saleswoman came over and started talking to him.

“Shopping for that special woman in your life?” She asked, cutting Henrik off before he could speak, “Who’s the lucky lady?  Girlfriend?  Fiancee?  Wife?”

“No.  Friend’s sister,” Henrik said, shoulder’s slumping slightly as he looked sadly back at the ring in his hand.  He was taken back to the times when he would go shopping for Edith, having long conversations with the salespeople to make sure that he got her the right gift.  Come Christmas morning, whether she liked the gift or not, she always acted ecstatic about receiving her gift.  At least until the fighting had started, that was.  He hadn’t thought about those happier times for a while, and now he suddenly missed them.  

Apparently the saleswoman hadn’t been trained what to do when a customer zoned out mid-conversation and shut down, so she did the next logical step; she headed over to Misha, the other customer in the section, and saw if she could help him.  Today just wasn’t her day because, noticing Henrik put the ring back and slowly walk away, Misha politely told her no and moved to catch up with the seemingly dazed man.  Asking anymore questions about Henrik’s ex-wife were not something that Misha was going to do, not now.

After that, with Misha wanting to get him out of the store with that saleswoman and thinking about something else, the two of them wandered around from store to store, talking more about the presents than anything else.  They moved between stores, talking about Misha’s sisters, about Yana’s love for wood carving and Bronislava’s interest in plants.  Misha’s mother had a love for cooking and for sewing and, surprisingly, Zhanna did too, even if she had too short of an attention span to ever finish her projects.

“What do you think of this for Yana?” Henrik ask as he held up a stuffed bear toy, “It’s a bit childish, but they don’t sound like they’ve grown up with too many toys.”

“Maybe.  But not bear.  Too many bears in Russia to want one to hold,” Misha said as he picked up a different toy, an elephant, from the shelf, “This looks like better animal for her.”

“Whatever you think works.  I’m just here to offer suggestions,” Henrik said with a shrug, the smile falling on his face when he realized how large the afternoon crowd was getting, “The final decision is yours.”

Misha paused as he looked around at the growing number of people flowing into the mall, watching as Henrik subtly did the same.

“I think it is time to leave the mall soon.” Misha said, “Let me go buy the toy, and then we will leave.”

“Alright.  I’ll be waiting outside the store,” Henrik said, “The line’s short, so it shouldn’t take you too long.”

Leaving Misha to stand in line, Henrik stepped outside the store, and into the noisy crowd, to try to find some quiet.  He was enjoying his time with Misha, and the bonding that they seemed to be having, he needed a moment to think.  All the one-on-one time was exhausting, especially after the weeks of near solitude, and he needed this moment of peace in the midst of the crowd.  It made him want a drink of something alcoholic.  Nothing hard, but just something.

By the time Misha joined back up with him, Henrik had managed to mentally recharge just a enough to put the smile back on his face just for him.  

“Do you want to look anywhere else?” He asked Misha, “Do you still want to go downtown?”

“Do you still have free time?” Misha asked, adjusting the few bags he was carrying, “If you still have time, then yes.”

“Yes.  Besides, we still have to figure out some gifts,” Henrik said, “I might pick up some presents too, especially if I can figure out something for Jane.  Believe it or not, he’s a hard man to buy for.”

“I believe it,” Misha said simply as they headed out to the parking lot, “Any ideas for him?”

“I was thinking a bucket,” Henrik said with a laugh, “No, really, I have no idea what to get him.  Probably a gift card to an American restaurant, but I don’t know yet.”

Misha placed the few bags that they had picked up in the back of the car, and then the two of them began the slow, quiet adventure that was trying to pull out of a full parking lot.  It took them fifteen minutes before they were out on the road again, heading to the downtown area.

“Do you have any siblings?” Misha asked him, “You have been doing all of this for me and my family, so I hope this has not been a problem for you.”

“No, don’t worry.  I’m an only child,” Henrik said, “It’s actually been...nice to do some Christmas shopping.   That’s not something I normally say.”

“I am glad that you have been enjoying this.”

“It’s been good to take a break from everything.  I haven’t been this invested in the holiday for a while,” Henrik admitted, “I just hope that I’m actually helping you.“

“You are, do not worry,” Misha said, giving the man a slight smile, “I appreciate your help very much.  More than you realize.”

“I’m glad you do,” Henrik said, leaning back against the seat.  It wasn’t a long drive to the downtown area, but it was nice to just sit back and enjoy the ride.  It gave him time to think about what other gifts he could buy, including something that he could get Misha.  

Of course, it would help if he knew more about the man.  So far, he only knew about his family, and how the man had three sisters and a mother.  Other than that, what else did he know about the man?

“Mikhal, what do you do for a living?” Henrik asked.

“I work in business.  Wanted to work in teaching, but that didn’t work out,” Misha replied.

“What do you do?”

“I...work in part of the international department,” Misha said slowly, “Part of my job is translating between parties.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Russian, Italian, Swedish, and Polish,” Misha replied as he looked for a parking spot downtown, “We recently hired a man who is fluent in French, Dutch, Spanish, among others, so that does help.”

“What no German?” Henrik teased, “Not interested?”

“Still learning that language,” Misha said, “Cannot claim to speak it yet.”

“Really?” Henrik asked excitedly, “How long have you been learning it?”

“Almost a year.” Misha replied as he pulled into a spot.  The parking lot in the downtown area was still somewhat crowded, but it wasn’t as difficult to find a spot as it would have been at the mall now.

“Almost a-” Henrik paused, glancing over at Misha.  He had known the other man for just about a year, from the first time that he had come into the shop up to this drive together.  

Was it self-centered of himself to wonder if he was a partial inspiration for the learning?  Or was it rather that Mikhal had merely moved on to the next language on his list?

“International translation for a business?” Henrik said as they exited the car, “And here I thought that you worked for the Russian mafia.”

“That gets assumed a lot.  More than you would imagine,” Misha said, leaning closer to Henrik to quietly add, “Do not speak so loud.  You will get me caught.”

“Caught?” Henrik replied hushedly, his mind racing.  What in the world did Mikhal mean-?

His confusion was interrupted by Misha letting out a hearty laugh.

“Henrik, I am pulling your chain,” The Russian chuckled, “No secret, no cover, was joke.  The look on your face was very good.”

“You've got a sense of humour, “ Henrik noted with a smile, “Lucky for you, I do too.  Do you actually work in international communications for a business or was that a joke too?”

“I do.  That was not a joke,” Misha told him, “What are you thinking for Bronislava?  I was thinking of getting her a new hat.  She likes hats”

“There's also an arts and crafts store down here.” Henrik said, “I was thinking that they may have something for her wood carving hobby-”

Henrik stopped talking abruptly when his back pocket started vibrating.  Reaching for his phone, he held up a finger, asking for a moment of quiet to which Misha happily obliged.

When he flipped open his phone, and saw who was calling, his brow knit in confusion and, momentarily, concern.

“Who?” Misha quietly asked, “Insurance?”

“No, it's Scout’s home number.” Henrik said, “He always calls from his cell, so his parents are probably calling me.  I don't know why they would.”

Before he wondered anymore, or missed the call, he answered  and put the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?” He answered, “This is Henrik Vogler.”

“Henrik?  It's Iris,” Scout’s mother said, “Would-...How have you been?”

“I've been alright, thank you for asking,” Henrik said,  “How have you been?”

“Alright, I suppose.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of talking to you?” He asked, “Has everyone in your family been alright as well?”

“Actually, not...exactly.” She said hesitantly, “I was hoping to ask you a favor, Henrik.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” He said, “What sort of favor did you have in mind?”

“Well, uh, when you have some time, I was hoping that you could drop by and talk with my son.”

“Scout?” Henrik asked, “What's going on with him?”

“Um, temperamental issues, I guess,” She said, “It's always around this time of year that he starts acting up.”

“Acting up?  He acts up?  He’s got some attitude sometimes, but I’m not sure I’m following your concern here,” Henrik said slowly, “How badly is he ‘acting up’?”

“He got fired from his job for an outburst yesterday.  Heard he broke the headset in frustration, if I’m understanding him right,” Iris said, a shushing noise heard as she kept someone from interrupting her, “And then he ripped into his manager, and so his manager ripped into his job and booted him out.”

“Scout did this?  He got fired after possibly physically and verbally assaulting someone?”  Are we thinking of the same Scout?”  He asked, “I saw him yesterday, and he seemed fine.”

“You don't see everything, Henrik.  He looks up to you, puts on a smile for you too, I bet,” She said, “He says that his manager is blowing it out of proportion, but I don’t know.  I know his temper.”

“He looks up to me?” Henrik fought back a laugh, “Alright, if you think I can help any, I'll drop by.  When do you want me to come over?  Now?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Henrik saw Misha pull his keys back out of his pocket, apparently ready to start driving somewhere else if necessary.

“No, not today.  I'm sure you’re busy-” She said, the faint sound of a door slamming could be heard in the background, “-And he and Julian just had a spat.  Could you drop by tomorrow actually?  The sooner, the better...Anytime after Mass, in the afternoon, would be wonderful.”

“Tomorrow?  I can do tomorrow,” He said, “I'd be happy to come over and talk with Scout then.  Can I help you with anything else, Iris?”

“Can you-...Just don’t tell Scout you’re coming by so he’ll actually be there.  You coming over’ll be enough, hopefully,” She said, the noise in the background getting quieter as she moved away from it, “And thank you, Henrik.”

“No problem, Iris.  Good luck with your boys.  See you tomorrow, “ Henrik said before he hung up the phone.  Sliding it back into his pocket, he looked over at Misha, who was waiting and ready to unlock the car, and shook his head.

“I don’t need to get anywhere, Mikhal, you can put the keys away,” Henrik said, resting an arm on the top of the car, “You looked ready to to race off at a moment’s notice.”

“I thought that maybe Scout needed help now,” Misha explained as he put his keys back into his pocket, “Is everything okay with the boy?”

“I don’t know.  I’ll find out tomorrow, I suppose,” Henrik said, “Hopefully he just needs to talk it out, whatever’s going on in his head.”

He started to head down the sidewalk, not caring which direction they began walking.  Misha easily caught up to Henrik’s slow pace and was soon walking right by his side once more.

“Do you have any guesses what is going on with him?” Misha asked.

“I have a few.  Nothing I’m willing to bet on yet, but my strongest guess is this is about his father. He was talking about him yesterday.” Henrik said, “You do remember who Scout is, right?  I know you haven’t talked to him for awhile.”

“Uh, yes.  Very friendly, chatty barista boy that worked nights,” Misha said quickly, neither confirming nor denying that he had spoken with the boy, “I know who he is, Henrik.  I hope things look better for him soon.”

“Me too, Misha.  He’s a good kid,” Henrik said slowly, “Where were we going to go next before I got a call?”

“Art store.  For Bronislava.” Misha said, “Do not have to go there next though, not if you have different idea.”

“We could wander around down here if you want to look around for more ideas,  
Henrik said with a shrug as he began walking down the sidewalk, stopping next to the small skating rink, “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Misha asked as he stopped next to Henrik on the sidewalk, .

“Of course I’m sure.  This is the longest time I’ve spent out of my apartment in a while, Mikhal, of course I’m sure,” Henrik said as he tucked his  cold hands into his pockets, “What do I have to go back to?  Paperwork, phone calls, couch naps.  Can you blame me for wanting it to go on just a little bit longer?”

“No.  I want it to last longer too and I am glad that you do too” Misha said as he mimicked Henrik and also tucked his hands into his pockets, despite wanting to wrap his arm around Henrik’s back, “I am also glad that our time together has been better than paperwork so far.  Paperwork is such a chore.”

“Mikhal, you know that’s not what I mean-”

“I do.” The Russian grinned, “And that is why I can tease you about it.”

A smile slowly grew on to Henrik’s face as he looked over at Misha, one that he wasn’t actually aware of.

“You’re in a good mood today, aren’t you, Misha?” Henrik asked as he looked down away from the man.

“You are not the only one who enjoying today, Henrik,” Misha said simply, “And you are not the only one who wants it to last longer.”

“Oh?”

“Have you ever ice skated before?” Mikhal asked, nodding towards the rink.

“I have, but not for a few years.  I went here with Edith a couple times before.  We skated together,” Henrik said, watching a couple skate by together, “Have you?”

“Henrik, I lived in Northern Russia.  If you were not skating somewhere, then you were snowshoeing or sledding,” Misha said with a quiet laugh, “I know very well how to skate.  The question is if you want to.”

A look of pensive thinking crossed Henrik’s face as he watched the skaters whizzed past them.  He watched as kids laughed and stumbled around, and as skaters young and old circled by.  His eyes lingered on a young couple, kids around their twenties, held hands as the young blonde woman pulled her male partner in for a soft kiss.

Watching them, Henrik suddenly felt very tired.  It was hard to keep smiling, it was hard to keep up his happy little charade.  Still, he was going to try, even if he didn’t think he was going to be able to last much longer.

Misha waited quietly for an answer, watching Henrik’s face as an almost wistful look overtook it. The cold had given a slight red tint to the German’s cheeks, though Misha was sure the cold wasn’t making Henrik’s eyes look just barely damp.  There was a small cloud of frozen breath when Henrik let out a sigh and a gentle shake of his head.

“I’m sorry, Misha.  I appreciate the offer, but I’m not in the mood to embarrass myself right now.” Henrik said, giving the man a soft, tired smile as he rubbed at his cold arms, “Perhaps another time?”

“I can take a raincheck,” Misha said with a shrug, “Another time, maybe, we can skate together, if you want to.”

“We’ll have to see,” Henrik said, turning and slowly walking away while talking quickly, “Where did you want to go next?  There’s a cookware store down here, I think.  You don’t normally get a woman cookware for a gift, but it might be a nice gift considering that they probably won’t be packing a lot of pots and pans with them.”

“Henrik-” Misha stopped talking, taking the hint from the man’s speed and tone that Henrik was in the mood for a subject change, “We will go to store to look...Can we talk on the way?”

“Talk?  We have been talking, the whole time.  Well, almost the whole time, there have been pauses, both natural quiet moments that bloom in a conversation and others for breaths,.” Henrik said quickly before he paused for a breath, adding to the latter list, “What is it that you want to talk about now?  Something in particular?”

“Are you upset about something?”

“Upset?  Henrik stopped walking just to give the man a look, “What is there for me to be upset about?  Today’s been...It’s been good.  Mikhal, why would I be upset about anything?”

“You tell me.” Misha asked, straightening up to assert those few inches that he had on the other man, “Is there a reason for you to be upset?”

“No.”

“But are you upset?” Misha continued to press.

“...Maybe,” Henrik finally admitted, “It’s not your fault.  It’s mine.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” Henrik asked as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

“It does to me.” Misha told him, leaning against the short metal fence circling the rink, “Do you want to talk about it?

“Do you really think that will help?” Henrik asked tiredly.

“It is what you were going to try with Scout.  Why not try it now?”

“I’m just tired, Misha.  I’ve just emotionally exhausted, I suppose.” Henrik shrugged, “Today’s been good.  It’s been a nice break and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t just pretend that nothing’s wrong or upsetting, though it’s got nothing to do with you, I’m just...I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry.  Emotions are human,” Misha said, “I was wondering when you were going to stop.”

“Stop?”

“Stop fighting to be perfectly cheerful.”

“You noticed?  Was it that obvious?”

“You were acting like a barista, Henrik, not like the person I know.  I know your work smile and I know your normal smile, work smile has been on your face many times today,” Misha said, “I did not want to ask then, but I will now.  Why?”

Henrik sighed.

“I didn’t want you to leave.” Henrik said slowly, “I thought that you had left this morning, but you hadn’t, and when I saw you there I was so happy.  I didn’t want to make you want to leave.”

“So you used barista-mode?  Have heard Scout call it that before”

“Barista-mode was activated.” Henrik said with a small, guilty laugh, “Who would you rather spend time with?  A man who’s trying to pick himself up or a barista that knows how to please and keep people coming back?”

“I’d rather have the man,” Misha said, “No matter how low he is, I’d rather be with the human over the machine.”

“Machine?” Henrik asked with a slight tilt of his head.  

“When your only goal is to please and keep people coming back, and you have to deny your own emotions to fulfill that goal, are you really a person?  Or are you more like a machine?”

“I really wasn’t in the mood for riddles, Mikhal, but I believe you’ve already answered your own question,” Henrik said, “You would have made a wonderful college professor...Do you mind if I ask you a question, teacher?”

“Go ahead,” Mikhal said, ”Ask away.”

“When did you realize that-?”

“Breakfast.  You were too chipper, not like the man I think I know or talked with last night.  It was odd.”

“Ah.” Henrik said, “So have you just been waiting for me to tell you, or just not be able to keep up the Ken doll act, forever smiling with no heart, or were you going to say something?”

“What reason would I have to say something?” Misha said, “If I was wrong, you would be embarrassed and concerned by how you were acting. If I was right, you’d be embarrassed and concerned about how you were acting.  There was nothing good to say, so why point it out when it will not help anyone?”

After hearing a question like that, Henrik stayed silent, trying to find something to say.  Nothing that he thought of seemed right.  What could one say to that?  Not much.  

The silence flowed between them, the mindless chatter and clatter of skates on ice only serving as white noise as the two of them looked at each other.  The quiet standoff lasted a minute, though it felt like it lasted longer, before Misha broke it.

“I do not appreciate being lied to, Henrik, but I think I understand why you...smothered some feelings.  I cannot get angry at you for that.” Misha said, “Next time, if we have a next time, I want to have a next time, can you just be you?  You are who I want to spend time with.  If I wanted to talk with a barista, there are many shops in town where I can find someone to smile brightly and wish me a good day, but there is only one of you.”

Misha held out his hand to the other man, nervously looking at Henrik, waiting to see what the other man’s reaction was.  If he was hoping that Henrik would reach out and take it, he was sorely disappointed.  Henrik pushed his hand to the side and took a step towards Misha instead.

“You’ve only known me as a barista, Misha.  Except for last night, you’ve only ever known me from the waist up, smiling, beaming at and talking with you,” Henrik said, taking another step closer, “Why are you so sure that you want to actually know the man behind the counter?”

“You asked me this morning why I stayed, yes?  I stayed because I am sure I want to know the man, even after we had a night like last night.” Misha said, pausing, “Henrik, why do you keep questioning me?  Do you think I’m just going to leave you already?”

“No reason that you shouldn’t.” Henrik told him.

“Then why do you keep asking me if there is a reason that I should?” Misha said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice, “I want this to work, Henrik.  If you want me to wait, I will wait.  If you want me to continue, I will go.  If you want me to leave, I will leave.”

“Misha-”

“What is it that you want, Henrik?” Mikhal said, his hand curling into a fist before it went slack once more, “Tell me.  I cannot-...Please tell me.  Talk to me, Henrik.  Please.”

“I…I don’t want to hurt you.” Henrik finally admitted, “If you and me...become a we, I want you to be sure about it before it goes anywhere and before I have the chance to make you wish to take it all back.”

“Do not worry about me, Henrik.  I can take care of myself.”  Misha told him, “The real question is whether or not you can take care of yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I won’t always be right there to pick you up when you drink yourself down to the floor, Henrik.” Misha said, “I can understand having a drink or two, but not drinking until you fall over.”

Henrik laughed, though it wasn’t a happy one.

“So now you’re going to pick on me about that?  I’ve lost almost everything and you’re upset with how I cope?” He said, taking a step back from the other man, mostly because he knew Misha was right, “So you want me, but you want to change me?”

“I do not want you to hurt yourself, Henrik,” Mikhal said, “What would have happened if I had not been there last night?”

“I-...would have been fine.” Henrik decided, “I’ve been fine every other night that you haven’t been there, why would have that one been any different?”

“Have you been running into a wall every night?” Mikhal asked, “I am concerned for you, Henrik, scared for you even.  More worried for you than me.”

“Don’t be.” Henrik said, starting to turn away, “There’s nothing for you to be concerned about anymore.”

“Wait, Henrik,” Mikhal said, watching as Henrik stopped in his tracks, “Why are you so scared of someone getting close to you?  You are fine when we talk like friends, so why are you so angry now?”

“I’m not-”

“Are you scared of people getting close to you?” Mikhal asked, “You want something more like a relationship but you turn tail like a coward like that something more gets too close.”

“Mikhal, I am not-”

“You are not always going to have a counter to separate you from the world, Henrik.  I can understand that you do not want a relationship, but I want you to understand that I just want to help you.” Mikhal said, “Until you stop running away, and making me chase after you, I will go no further.  That is not a relationship; that is a game that children play, and I am not going to participate in a senseless chase anymore until I know this is what you want.  So tell me, is it?”

Henrik’s eyes widened as what Mikhal was saying finally registered into his frozen brain.  Was he saying that they were over before they even started?  And it was all Henrik’s fault, because he had no idea what he wanted or needed in a relationship and he was pushing that insecurity onto someone who didn’t deserve it  He was screwing everything up once again...

God, he needed a drink.

“Misha, wait.  Wait.  I want this to work, I really do, I just need some time to get things okay again,” Henrik said, trying his darndest not to be reduced to pleading, “You have to understand how much I’m going through right now-”

“I do.  I am trying to at least,” Mikhal said, “And I am willing to give you time and space to figure things out.”

That wasn’t reassuring.

“You’re leaving.” Henrik said, not bothering to phrase it as a question, “I’ve ruined it already?”

“No.  Not leaving you, not quitting.  You have not ruined anything,” Mikhal said patiently, “Am not just running anymore, not yet.  No sense in a chase.  If you want to meet me partway, or at least stop running away, I would love to get to know you.  But only when you will let me.”

“I understand.” Henrik said slowly, “I’ve been in your position before.  It’s not easy.  I’ll work on making things better.”

“Just be you.  Do not change to try to make things work.” Misha said, “Take time to work through things.  Rushing will not help.”

“I won’t.  Well, not like earlier, not with the trying to make you happy.  I’ll try to make things more fair and less, ah, hide and seek-like.” Henrik said, “Misha, I really do like you.  A lot.”

“Am glad to hear that.  I feel the same,” Misha held out his hand out to Henrik one more time, “Let me help you and you help me.  There is no “i” in together, Henrik.”

This time, after only hesitating slightly, Henrik took his hand.  He was unsure, but most of his doubt vanished when he saw the slight, relieved smile decorate Misha’s face.  

Maybe, just maybe, trusting someone else wasn’t so bad after all.

“Snow is really starting to come down,” Mikhal said, glancing up at the falling flakes, “We should probably start heading back.”

“Already?”

“Mmm, yes.  Unfortunately,” Misha said, turning back to head to his car.  He kept a hold of Henrik’s hand.  His grip was loose enough that Henrik could pull away without much effort, but tight enough to let the German know that he didn’t mind holding hands with him.  Henrik was perfectly happy to let his hand stay where it was.

It was odd to have the smaller hand.  Henrik’s hands had always been the larger ones, keeping the front, assertive grip when he and Edith held hands.  That had been before he had started to fall into a relationship with a giant, with large hands to match.  Hopefully he still had a relationship to fall into.

He was perfectly happy to walk in silence with the other man, staying by his side with their hands tucked subtly between them.  Henrik was the one who tightened his grip first, prompting Misha to gently do the same, confirming that he wasn’t going to just let go.  Somehow, this bit of contact helped bring him a small sense of comfort, helping him calm down and relax.

Unfortunately, it was a short-lived bit of contact, because they arrived at the car far too soon for Henrik’s liking.  He wouldn’t have minded if they had need to walk a little farther than him just walking to the passenger side of the car.  He’d have to remember how it felt next time, before they started to head back.

“Are you dropping me off at my place?” Henrik asked as Misha fiddled with the heat in his car.

“That was the plan, yes,” Misha told him, turning the knob up a notch before he started to back out of the space, “Let me know if you are not warm enough.”

“Okay.” was all Henrik said as he checked behind them, to make sure no pedestrians or distracted drivers drifted behind them.  Once they were driving again, Henrik seemed to remember why they had even come down here in the first place.  

“Are you going to come back and pick up you sisters’ presents later?” He asked.

“Yes.  Going to talk with Zhanna too, see what she thinks,” Misha said, “Not going to ask her about her gifts, of course, but her opinion will help too.”

“Then why did we even drive downtown if you wanted to ask her?”

“To give you a day off from your apartment,” Misha said simply, “Thought it would be a nice way to spend the day with you.”

Henrik stayed silent as Misha drove through an intersection.  He looked over at the other man, down in thought, and then back over at Mikhal.

“Thank you, Misha,” Henrik said slowly, an apology on the tip of his tongue, “Did you actually need any help with your sisters or did you just make that up to get me out of my apartment?”

“Yes,” Misha said, fighting to keep a small smile off of his face.

“Yes to which one?”

“I did need help.  You have been great help.” Misha said, letting the smile win as he looked over at Henrik, “Am still probably going to get sweaters for everyone, just to keep tradition going, but help with the other gifts was wonderful.”

“You’re a rascal, do you know that?”

“I do now.”

“A rascal who took time off for me.” Henrik said as he leaned back into his seat, “I bet that you would have had a better time at work.”

“You lose that bet,” Mikhal said as he stopped at a red light, “I gave us both a break from paperwork today.  So you knew about me taking the day off?”

“I heard you coughing in the bathroom while you were on the phone, and then bribing someone” Henrik said, “I’ve heard that hanging backwards off a bed helps with faking sick.  For next time.”

“It is the second sick day I have taken all year.  First one was when I needed to pick up Zhanna from airport,” Misha said, “They do not care if I take occasional breaks.  I could have said I had Brontosaurus and they still would have let me go.”

“Brontosaurus?” Henrik said with a quiet laugh, “You should have gone with Thesaurus.  That would be quite an affliction.”

“Would it?” Misha mused idly, distracted as he glanced over at Henrik.

“Unless you don’t consider suffering from a case of synonymiumitis a problem-”

It took a short row of cars honking behind them, wanting the car to move as soon as the light turned green to get their attention.  Henrik looked over at Misha who in turn jerked his attention back to the road, trying to pretend that he hadn’t been distracted by the real, genuine, beautiful smile on Henrik’s face as they bantered with each other.  It had been the best smile that Mikhal had seen from him all day.

Unfortunately, it was a short drive to Henrik’s apartment building.  He lived closer to the downtown area than Misha had realized, though the man’s shop had been near there as well, so it only made sense.  Before either of them were ready to say goodbye, there were parked outside Henrik’s building.

“Would you like to come up?” Henrik asked, adding, “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“Not right now.  Not today,” Misha told him after a long pause, “I need to get home and make sure that I still have a home.”

“Worried about Zhanna?” Henrik asked, already well-aware of the answer.

“Yes, Zhanna.” Misha said with a nod, “I do not think she could get into too much trouble, she is a smart girl...But she has always been good at surprising me when I least expect it.”

“I understand.  You need to go check on her.  You’re a good brother, Mikhal,” Henrik said with a smile, finally undoing his seatbelt.  

There was a silence in the car, save for the zipping sound of the seatbelt sliding back into his place.  Henrik, obviously stalling, sat for a moment before he finally asked the question on the forefront of his mind.

“Misha, I am going to see you again, right?” Henrik asked a bit anxiously,  “This isn't...it,  is it?”

“I want to see you again, Henrik,” Mikhal confirmed, “Hopefully, we can spend more time together soon.  There is still so much for us to do.  So much that I want us to do.”

“Hopefully,” Henrik said, giving a nervous laugh, as he opened up the car door, “I suppose this is goodbye for now, then?”

“Yes…” Misha frowned momentarily, eyebrows knitting in thought, before he looked back at Henrik, “Can I call you tomorrow night?”

“Yes, of course.  You don’t have to ask permission for something like that,” Henrik said.

“Was more scheduling it with you.  Has been difficult to talk with you before today,” Misha said as he stepped out of the car, interrupting Henrik before he could speak, “Do not apologize.  I understand.  Life has been busy for you.  Just thought it would help to make sure in advance.  Is tomorrow night good?”

“Tomorrow night, yes.  I will call you or answer the phone tomorrow, Misha,“ Henrik promised, “And thank you for your help and patience yesterday and today.  I hope I can make it up to you soon and have a better day with you.  Better than today, at least.”

“And I hope I can buy you dinner before I take you home next time,” Misha said, glancing over towards the building, “Do you want me to walk up?”

“No, there’s no point in that.  I do appreciate the sentiment, though,” Henrik paused when Misha extended a hand out to him, and then reached out to meet him “Maybe, next time, we’ll have the time to go up there together and rel-”

Henrik was cut off when what he thought was a handshake was suddenly turned into a hug, the second hug he had received from Misha today.  It started tense, as he was caught by surprise, but Henrik was soon relaxing into it and even throwing an arm back around Misha’s back.  Misha tilted his head and gave Henrik a soft kiss on the cheek, as well as quick one of the bridge of his nose, and he received a happy hum in reply.

“Take care of self, Henrik,” Misha said as he let go of Henrik, his bright red as a embarrassed, happy, blush took over his cheeks, “I will see you again soon.”

“Tell Zhanna I said hello,” Henrik said as smiled up Misha,his own face turning red as well, “Thank you, Misha.  I look forward to talking again with you soon.  Goodbye for now.”

With a smile and a nod, Misha climbed back into his car and slowly backed out.  After his car was heading the other way, Henrik stepped inside his building and slowly climbed the stairs, happy to get inside because, without a bear hugging him, the cold was quite strong.  Making his way inside his room, he shook his jacket off of his shoulders, not caring about the snow that fell off onto the floor.

After a day like that, such a wonderful day, a little snow on the floor was hardly anything to care about.  Admittedly, it could have gone better, but it had been a better day than he had thought he was have, a better day than he could have imagined.

Once he had removed his outerwear, the first thing he did was to open up his doves cages, giving them the chance to roam around the room and stretch their wings.

“Did you miss me?” Henrik asked Archimedes as the bird landed on his shoulder, “How has my girl been?”

He received a gentle coo in reply.

“Oh, my day was good.  I was helping Misha, that man that was here before, pick out some gifts for his sisters,” Henrik said as he headed back into the kitchen.  After all of the walking and talking he had done today, his throat was feeling quite parched.

Archimedes nibbled at a small bit of Henrik’s hair, seemingly wanting the man's attention.

“Don't worry, I will be getting you and the other two some gifts.” He reassured the bird, as he poured himself a half glass of wine, “Today we didn't go anywhere for birds, I'm afraid,  so I don't quite have it yet.”

Archimedes gave out a happy coo as the other two doves joined them in the kitchen, with Baccilis and Copernicus watching them from the top of a cabinet.

“Yes,  I suppose I am in a fairly good mood,” Henrik agreed, picking his glass up, “I did just spend it with a very handsome gentleman-”

As he took a sip, he paused when he had a realization, lips still resting on the glass’s rim.

He had spent the day with Misha.  They had been together.  They had been together all day and it had been so wonderful.

Had Misha taken him out on a date under the guise of gift’-getting?  He had just been out on a date, his first one in years, and he hadn't even realized it.

By making the day about his sisters, and keeping the focus off of how it was just the two of them spending time together, Misha had kept it from turning into a stressful event where they would each be trying to make it perfect.

Clever man.  What a clever, clever man.

Henrik’s shoulders shook gently as he laughed gently at himself, putting his drink back down on the counter.

He had gotten to spend the day just getting to know Mikhal, and Mikhal had taken time off to make sure that Henrik was alright.  It had been a long time since Henrik had been able to feel so at ease with someone else.  It had been even longer since he had found himself looking forward to seeing them again, actually eager to see the two of them get closer.

And as he walked out towards the couch, ready to recharge after today, he found himself feeling almost - dare he think it? - happy.   Today hadn’t left him feeling drained, tired and frustrated at the world; rather, it had actually made him look forward to talking to Misha tomorrow.  

It was odd, but it was odd in a good way.

Somehow, despite this morning, and the mess that was last night, today had managed to be a good day.  A day of calm, and not-quite romance, that had been spectacular.  And what better way to close it out with one glass of wine?

Because, as good as he felt after a day spent with the man he was falling head over heels for, one was all he needed tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put this song (http://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=pkox8x1LxQ4#Undertale_Temmie_get_money_for_colege(Better)) on repeat and made myself finish the editing before I turned it off (which actually added three pages? I don't think that's how editing works tbh). I think I went a little loopy by the time it hit 50 repeats, but y'all got the fic, so it all worked out, right Right?
> 
> The Tough Guy Toque and the Merc's Muffler is my new OTP. Who needs Heavy x Medic when you've got TGT X MM, amirite?
> 
> If you all every have any questions about the characters, feel free to ask them. As long as they don't contain any spoilers, I'd be happy to answer anything y'all want to throw at me either on here or my tumblr. It keeps my mind working and developing the fic.
> 
> Missing Ash and Mick? Check out this little CPB extra that I posted on my tumblr called Ash and Mick's Day Off (http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/139696142092/ash-and-micks-day-off-cpb-extra). It was written with this chapter in mind, but I'm probably not going to post it in CPB. Maybe as a spinoff, but I'm not sure yet.
> 
> This next chapter is one that I'm looking forward to and am excited to get started on. I don't think I'll be going too far out on a limb to say that you all might be surprised where we're going to end up next or how it's going to play out. I've been planning this part for a while and hopefully can get it done soon. No promises, though, I'm afraid.
> 
> Interpret my enthusiasm as you will and try to prepare accordingly. =)


	11. About a Scout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time to go see what's up with Scout! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also on tumblr here: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/145532665417/caffeine-pourtress-brew-pt-11  
> Likes and reblogs and comments are super duper appreciated, but by no means required. =)
> 
> I apologize for taking so long with this chapter. I started it in April and I was trying to shoot for the end of May, but graduation and a new job, plus the continual growth spurt of the chapter, kinda ruined that. So now you can have your May chapter in June. Whoopsie. Thank you so much for your patience.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my beta, for helping me make this chapter the best it can be.
> 
> End notes contain big ol' spoilers for the chapter. I highly suggest you save them for the - wait for it - end.

 

Light blazed through windows, taking advantage the curtains being pushed aside to shine directly in Henrik’s face.  The phrase “rise and shine” must be reserved solely for the sun because, try as he might to be a morning person, he’d rise, but he wouldn’t be shining.  Not until he was earning a paycheck for beaming at the world around him would he be truly shining.

His neck was sore - sleeping awkwardly on a couch could do that - and he tried to work on loosening it as best he could.  Sitting up slowly, and rubbing at the back of his neck, he tried to figure out what he was going to do today.  Honestly, he had no clue how he was going to waste some time.

Today was Sunday.  Most of the businesses that he needed to deal with would be closed.  He had a morning to occupy until he drove over to Scout's house, and possibly part of an afternoon if he wanted to avoid interrupting their lunchtime.

That was a lot of time to fill.  Now he just had to figure out how.

“I should do some cleaning.” He said to no one in particular as he remained static on the couch.   He really didn't want to; his eagerness to straighten up was nearly nonexistent, and it showed.

He really should, though.  What he had managed to get done over the last two days had been good for the moment, but today he had time to actually do something more.

The only problem was that he was lacking motivation.  Which, it turns out, was a fairly big problem.

Sighing, he slowly stood up and headed over to the doves’ cage.  As soon as he opened it up, Archimedes hopped out.   The other two stayed further back, though they did approach closer than usual.

Henrik left the cage open, allowing the birds to roam if they wished.  Archimedes chose to sit solidly on Henrik’s shoulder.

“Instead of cleaning the whole partment, does one room sound like a good compromise right now?” He asked the bird, receiving a coo in reply. “Alright then, one room.   It should probably be the kitchen.  That needs the most work.”

With his bird accompanying him, Henrik made his way to the kitchen and spent the next few minutes giving the counters a wiping and the floor a quick sweeping before he let himself sit down and relax again.  The room wasn't perfect, it would take another round or two to help make it better, but it was something.  And something was always better than nothing.  While he was at it, laundry was another something to do.

Some time later, after breakfast and pulling his freshly washed laundry from the dryer, his cell phone rang, jerking his attention away from the clothes he was folding.

Was it Misha already?  Hadn't he said that he wasn't going to call until tonight?  Or had something, namely a Zhanna, encouraged him to change his mind and jump the gun?

Putting the trousers he was folding down on the couch, he stood up and retrieved his phone from his chair-hung jacket.  A quick look at the number told him that, no, it was not Misha calling him right now.  He was only a bit disappointed by that fact, but more relieved.  Truthfully, he wasn’t ready for the call yet, not mentally anyway.

“Hello?” He said, putting the phone up to his ear as he walked back over to the couch.

“Henrik?  It's Pauling,” The friendly voice said. “How have you been?”

“I could be better, but I could also be worse,” He said with a shrug. “I'm assuming that is not the only reason you're calling me, correct?”

“Well, we typically do a follow up with the victim of a crime, to make sure everything's alright with them.” She paused, “We also call to let them know if we've found anything…”

“Did you?” He asked, suddenly growing more interested in the conversation.

“I'm afraid nothing concrete.  Whoever torched your place did a good job covering their tracks,” She said,  “So far the only lead we've got is what we started with: The Classics.”

“What have they said?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a minute.

“We can't find them.  We've checked all their frequent hangouts, and the infrequent ones too, and we can't find a trace of them.”

“You can't find anything?”

“No leads on their whereabouts whatsoever.  Probably means they skipped town once they realized we were on their trail.” She said. “That's good for you, anyway, if they did.  Won't be bothering you again.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“They won't be _if_ they're gone,” She reminded him, “ _If_.”

“True.  Only if they're gone.” He said, “Still a man can dream, can't he?”

“If they're not gone, then they've done a darn good job of vanishing.” She sighed.

Silence lingered between the two of them.  There was the sound of a pencil on paper from Pauling’s end and the gentle swish of clothing being folded from Henrik’s.

“Pauling?  Do you mind if I ask you something?” Henrik said, breaking the silence, “Do you have a moment for a more… Ah, personal question?”

“Yeah, sure.  What is it?” She asked. “I got time for you.  Except for a couple of cases, yours being the biggest, it's pretty slow here.”

“It's about a Scout.”

“Oh, what about him?” She asked, “Because I have a couple questions myself.”

“You went out on a date with him recently, yes?” Henrik asked,  “Was he acting... okay?”

“Um, well...what do you mean ‘okay'?”

“I got a call from his mother, who was concerned because he's been...acting out, I suppose?”

“Him?  Considering how often his brothers have been in the station for breaking the law, it wouldn't exactly surprise me.”

“But that's not _him_ , Pauling,” Henrik countered, “He's normally a good kid.”

‘And I believe that too.” Pauling said, “On those dates we had, he was a gentleman.  A gentleman who seems to be new to the whole gentleman thing, but who was really trying.”

“Really?”

“He brought me a rose on our second date.”

“That was very nice of hi-”

“It still had all of its thorns.”

“Oh.”

“I did give him points for trying.  It was a pretty smooth move until the blood started flowing,” She said nonchalantly. “Have you spoken to Scout recently?”

“Before your date, yes.  After?  No.” Henrik told her. “What's on your mind?”

“Did he-...How did he sound?” She asked, “Was he excited about the date or dreading it or what?”

“He was thrilled, from what I could tell.  Couldn't wait to see you,” Henrik said. “Why?”

“He-..It-...It was weird,” She said slowly, “At the beginning of the date, he was fine.  Excited.  Wouldn’t stop talking about what he was hoping to see in the movie.  It was kinda cute.”

“And then?”

And then...At some point during the film, I looked over and his smile was wiped clean.  Gone completely.  He looked...different.” She recalled, “Like he was thinking about something...else instead of enjoying the movie or the date. He had a somewhat serious look on his face.  Now that I think about it, it was kinda sad too.”

“Did you say something to him?”

“Nothing mean or anything.  I said that he was a sweetheart for buying me Junior mints and opening the doors for me.” Pauling said, “We watched the trailers for the other movies - there was this one movie they’re making about a video game that sounded dumb that laughed at - and we watched a family leave after five minutes because a kid was freaked out during the opening fight scene.  He was fine.”

“That doesn’t sound like it _should_  have been a problem,” Henrik said, “So was it something in the movie?”

“I don’t know.  I could guess that it was, I _could_  guess it was almost anything, but I don’t know.”  She said, “As soon as we sat down, he asked if he could hold my hand in a sweet, unsure way.  I said no, because we had popcorn to eat and I’m a girl with priorities.  I held his hand later, though, when I saw his face.  He looked like a kicked dog.  By the time we were leaving the theater, he was apologizing for wasting my time and saying that I deserved someone better.”

Henrik stayed silent, pulling the flip phone away and looking at it, as if it could send his befuddled expression to Pauling.  Putting the phone back against his ear, he hesitated a moment before speaking.

“We are speaking about the same Scout, correct?”

“Cocky barista that flirts with me when I step in your shop?”

“That’s probably the same one that talks my ear off about you, and has a dopey grin on his face when you come up in the conversation.” Henrik said, “He came and talked to me multiple times about your dates, wanting advice.”

Pauling paused.

“Did you tell him to break it off with me?”

“No, no, nothing like that.  The only time it came up was something I told him after he asked for advice, something that...was a personal lesson I figured out after my divorce.”

“What was it?”

Something such as if the relationship’s not working for her, don’t try to hold on,” Henrik said, “It doesn’t seem like it was entirely applicable in this situation, though.”

“...What if that _was_  it?” Pauling asked slowly, “What if he took the preemptive and _assumed_  that I didn’t think it would work out.”

As laughable as it seemed, and sad, it wasn’t entirely implausible.  Scout assumed a lot, especially about what other people thought about him.  It was something that he always seemed to be doing one way or another.

There had been that time that he had thought he was in a wannabe greaser gang because he knew all the words to the songs in West Side Story.  There had been that time he thought he had been a shoo-in for a male swimsuit contest for the local paper - he had mentioned counting on some pity votes - and had his interview all planned out.  The call had never come.  Not to mention how long it had taken to make Scout shut up and listen to orders instead of assuming what was coming next.  After telling the boy there were over five hundred possible combinations for drinks, and that he needed to actually listen to the customer before talking their ear off, he had become a wonderful barista.

So for Scout to assume that Pauling could do better than him?  That she’d be better off with someone else?  It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine him latching onto that line of thought.

“Good Lord, Pauling, what happened in that movie?” Henrik asked slowly, “What, ah, major plot points occurred?”

“Uh, do I have to give you a spoiler warning?” She asked.  Apparently, somehow, Henrik’s tired look was transmitted over the phone, or perhaps it was just his loud sigh answering her question, because she continued talking after only a moment.

“Uh, small kid was found to have Impetus powers.  Adults, and a big purple alien shaped kinda like a bowling pin, helped train the kid.  Comedic side character was annoying.  Robots were great.  Bad guys blew up an intergalatic diner.  Main characters were saved with towels, I think?  I think they were towels.  They looked like towels.  Kid grew up.  Helped save a bunch of people, slave people, being forced to mine for some space stuff.  Enemy robot gets reprogrammed through her butt.  That was weird.” Pauling spoke quickly, more like they were playing a timed round of charades rather than talking about a movie, “Big bad turns out to be kids dad.  He chops kid’s foot clean off.  Screaming.  Dashing rogue comes to the rescue.  Slap fight. Comedic side character was blown up.  I think it was supposed to be tragic.  The theater cheered.  Robot shaped like a mug turns out to have codes for enemy’s system backlogged.  Password is one-one-one, uh,...one.  Queen arrives with army she’s been slowly building despite politics.  Major fight, with some slaps.  Bounty hunter takes off before bad guy place blows up, swears revenge. Credits scroll sideways as dramatic music is played.  After credit scene.  Hunter takes helmet off as screen fades to black; it was a woman all along.   Surprise.  I...I think that’s it.  That was the movie.”

“Fascinating.  Sounds like a video game movie, and you’ve saved me from ever buying a ticket, but I digress,” Henrik said, “Pauling, may I ask you something?  About Scout?”

“Okay…?”

“What do you think of him?”

“Do you mean if I’d, you know, date him again?” She asked, “I don’t see why not.  He’s been great, for a guy.  Polite, a little cocky, but really sweet.  Much better than any big blues ballers here at the station.  I’d...love to get to know him better.  At least I think I do...”

“Then maybe, later, you tell him that.” He said, “Maybe call him tomorrow, or drop by his mother’s bakery - he’ll probably be working there now - if you still think that.  I’m going to go talk to him soon and I’ll let you know if you shouldn’t bother.”

“Um, yeah, sure.  Not sure if this conversation helped any at all, but it was great talking to you,” Pauling said. “And, Henrik, let me know if you need anything, okay?  You’re more than just a case number to me; you’re a friend.  If there’s anything you need, just give me a call and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Pauling,” Henrik said again, “If I see a reason to bother you for anything, I will.”

“I’ve missed popping in on my route to chat with you, Henrik.” She confessed. “I look forward to being able to do that again.”

“I do too.”

“I’ll leave you alone now, Henrik, and get back to work,” Pauling said, “I’ve got some arsonists to catch.”

With a quiet goodbye, Henrik clicked the phone shut.  Leaning back with a sigh, he shut his eyes and took a moment to just think and be.  Then he opened his eyes because he still had laundry to fold and he should probably at least try to do it right.

Scout breaking up with Pauling hadn’t been anything that he expected to happen.  The other way around, sure, but this was odd.  Then again, it seemed like something was going on with Scout right now, something that was making him act this way.

Taking a glance over at the clock, Henrik stood up, putting the pants he had been folding on top of the basket.  He had been talking with Pauling longer than he figured, - cleaning longer too - and should probably be heading over to Scout’s now.  If the thought of arriving at a polite time hadn’t been encouragement enough to get a move on, then the urge to solve this mystery was more than enough to make him want to go.

He put his birds up, giving Archimedes a kiss on the head and blowing kisses to the others, pulled on his coat, grabbed his phone, and locked the door tightly behind him.  Moving quickly, curiosity speeding up his steps, he descended the stairs with long strides.

Even if he hadn’t planned on anything breaking his stride, or slowing him down, there was something that kept him from moving on to his car.

As he stepped outside, his foot landed on a small patch of ice, and he barely managed to grab onto the doorframe and keep his feet from flying out from under him.  Carefully, he slammed his foot down on the patch, to see if he could break it, but, unfortunately, it was ice that was fairly new, making it apparently far more indestructible.

His pace was slowed down by trying to get past the silent but deadly threat that the frozen water made.  After the slipping and sliding, he stumbled onto a dry part of the sidewalk, and straightened up his clothes before walking to the car, keeping a careful eye out for anymore small patches.  There were a couple, but thankfully as long as he stayed out where the sun was, the path was clear.

Today was shaping up to be a mess.  If the ice wasn’t bad enough, then the snow falling from the sky was enough to make him dread being out here.  If he hadn’t promised to be somewhere, he probably would just go right back up to his apartment and call it a day.  At least he could come straight back when this was all over, and go relax with a cup of tea on the couch or something.  It would give him something to look forward to, anyway.

Despite his burning curiosity, he made sure to drive slowly over to Scout’s house, allowing himself time and room to stop in case he hit another patch of ice.  He had just gotten his car up and running again, thanks to Dell;there was no reason for him to rush and end up totalling the poor girl because Mother Nature decided to toy with him once again.

It wasn’t a long drive to Scout’s place, it was just a bit longer than the drive to the shop, when he actually got to drive.  But the longer he drove, and the longer he thought about Scout, and what he should possibly say to the boy, the more worried he became.  

Iris may have said that Scout looked up to him, but Henrik wasn’t entirely sure _why._

What had he done that would have possible made Scout, a boy with God knows how many older brothers and friends, look up to _him_ , of all people?  What could he have possibly said or done?  Nothing he thought of seemed to be a good enough reason.

He made the boy mop the floor.  That couldn’t be it.

He had the boy scrub the bathrooms one time, when he had been more mouthy than usual.  That certainly couldn’t be it.

He had told the boy he was manager material.  That might have been it.

He had punched a man in the face.  That was probably it.

Did Scout only look up to him because he could fight?  Henrik hoped that wasn’t it, though he was sure he was hoping in vain.  The boy had grown up on the bad side of town, before he and his mother moved in with his step-father, and with probably twenty or so older brothers - Henrik wasn’t sure of the exact number, he had never seen them all in one place - so a fighting ability was probably a sure-fire way to be someone to look up to in their eyes.

Sometimes Henrik was wondering what life would have been like if he hadn’t been an only child.  Would it have been full of roughhousing encouraged by his parents or would they have still only rewarded the best behavior?  Would he have been the protective older brother or would he have had someone actually looking out for him at the schoolyard?

He thought he understood the dynamics between siblings; he had known enough kids that had them, so he knew that it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.  Personalities could conflict, there’d be competition and petty squabbles, and fights would inevitably break out.

But, more often than not, you’d have someone that had your back.  Someone who’d tease you, but keep others from doing the same, because only they had that privilege.  Someone who you could speak your own, almost coded language to, someone who understood all of the inside jokes.  There would always be someone around, even if your parents were busy, there would always be someone that you could talk to.

Siblings could be your worst enemy or your best friend.  That was what he thought, anyway.  They knew the spots that hurt the most, but that was because they knew you the best.  

...How would things have been different for him while growing up if he hadn’t been the only one?

Henrik shook himself long enough from his thoughts to obey the laws of traffic and flicked on his turn signal as he merged over to the left turn lane.  As he waited in the row of cars waiting to go, he silently pondered over Scout’s situation further, making better use of his time than remembering that this was basically the route he drove to work.

From what Henrik knew about siblings, which - granted - wasn’t much, he was surprised that Scout’s mother was calling _him_  instead of someone that Scout was closer to.

Didn’t the boy have about thirty siblings he could talk to instead?  That might be a _slight_  exaggeration, but, considering that Henrik hadn’t grown up with any, it was only a slight one to him.  At one point, it seemed like Scout had brought a new person into the shop every week, apparently taking advantage of their free time to show off his new workplace.  Probably not _all_  of them had been related, but sometimes it was hard to be sure.

His question still stood though.  Why him?

His question was partially, only partially, answered when he pulled up to the curb by Scout’s, and his mother’s, house.   Julien's car, possibly the only car they owned, was parked there.  No one else was there for this supposed talking to, though whether or not they had come earlier remained to be seen.

He stopped the car, pulled the keys out, and sat there as he tried to prepare for whatever was on the other side of the door.  Seeing as how he had no idea what was on the other side of the door, though, it was quite difficult to prepare for it.

He might as well just get going.   It would do him just as much good, if not more, as sitting here would do.

With a sigh-because he certainly wasn't going to do this skipping and singing-he headed to the front door, straightening himself up before he gently knocked three times.

Iris peered out before she fully opened the door up, offering Henrik a thankful smile.  Her eyes were tired, her face painted for the socializing they done that morning, and she was still dolled up, either having not found the time to change or preferring to stay dressed up for her guest.

“Hello!” She said brightly, stepping to the side to let Henrik in. “How have you been today?”

“I've been alright.” Henrik answered, glancing around for Scout, “Kept myself busy this morning.”

“That’s good to hear.” She said as she shut the front door. “Want me to take your coat for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” He said shrugging his coat off and handing it to her.  He watched her hang it up on a hook by the door, and then turned to look back towards the living room.

Not seeing anyone, he looked back towards Iris to inquire about the boy, but felt a sudden chill, like someone was watching him.  

He scanned the room, and then saw Julien watching him from an armchair, the man looking up from his magazine.  How had Henrik missed seeing him before?  Julien was almost glaring at Henrik, but the tired, sad look in his eyes softened the daggers enough to only sting.

“Hello, Julien,” Henrik said, noting the lack of cigarette in the Frenchman’s hand.  Iris must not allow smoking in her house. That might explain the irritable aura emitting from Julien's being.  Might, anyway.

“Hello, Henrik,” Julien responded, gloved fingers drumming on the arm of the chair.

There was an uneasy silence, one that was slowly growing tense, until Iris followed Henrik into the room.

“You have no idea how much we appreciate you-” She stopped talking when she noticed the stare-down taking place,  “Julien, don't.”

“Iris.” Julien said, “I-”

“No.”

“You-”

“Yes.”

“We-”

“Stop.” She said gently, cutting him off, “We tried.  He doesn’ want to listen to ya’ right now.”

“Iris,” He said again as he tossed his magazine in the floor in annoyance, his tone more despondent and frustrated, “But-”

“Julien, darlin’, every time you and Scout talk, ya’ fight.  That's not what either of ya’ need right now,” She said with a shake of her hairsprayed head, “Stop poutin’.

“But-”Julien seemed to realize how futile continuing would be.  He leaned back against the chair with a defeated sigh, blowing out air like he would after a pull of a cigarette.  The look on his face showed more emotion than just him brooding and sulking, but Henrik wisely decided to not push the conversation any further.

He was sure the coming conversation with Scout was going to be hard enough without him exacerbating the situation with the other family members.

“Any idea what's going on with him?” Henrik asked the other two.

“He always has a hard time this part of the year,” Iris said, “Christmas this year, and last year, hasn't felt the same without his father around.”

“Didn't he die around this time of year as well?” Julien asked.

“Yeah.  He did. Well, in September.  We were dealin’ with everything through Christmas, though,” Iris said, biting gently at her lip, “ That's another part of it too.”

“It's generally a difficult time of year for him, yes?” Julien asked, “He probably feels restricted, limited, as well as emotional.”

“Plus hormones.” Henrik added, being met with silence,  “Oh, come on, we were all thinking it.”

“Can't forget those hormones,” Iris finally agreed with a small smile, “Shame those hormones couldn't keep him in a relationship with that Miss Pauling lady.  She sounded like she would have been good for him.”

“He told you about that?” Henrik asked, “I heard about it from Pauling.  Quite sad. “

Iris and Julien quietly exchanged a look.

“You know the broad?” Iris asked, catching her tongue and correcting her language, “Woman, lady, Pauling.  You know this Pauling?”

“She comes... came into my shop sometimes,” Henrik said, “I believe that's where they met, actually.”

“That would make sense,” Julien said.

“Scout probably misses working at the shop too,” Iris said thoughtfully, a wistful look in her eyes. “I remember how excited he was to get started there.  It was the perfect place for him to work: close by, fairly calm, not a lot of…”

Iris cut herself off, closing her eyes and sighing a bit.  The conversation lulled, with her thinking about Scout instead of talking.  Before it got too awkward, Henrik spoke.

“I remember when you dropped him off for the interview.  Before we could get started, _you_  started interviewing _me_ ,” Henrik said with a quiet laugh, “At least that’s what it felt like, with you asking all those questions about the place.”

“I kinda’ did, didn’t I?” She said, matching his soft smile, “He’s the only kid I’ve still got around anymore, an’ we were both still recoverin’ from things; can you blame me for wanting to make sure that he’d be okay?”

“Blame you?  Never.  It’s just what concerned mothers do.  Given the situation and emotions, I don’t blame you for asking questions...or for what I think were veiled threats,” Henrik said, “It was odd at first, but Scout and I talked during the interview, and he clued me in about everything, as much as he wanted to anyway...He’s been a wonderful, positive boy to have had at the shop.”

“Wonderful if you’re on his good side,” Julien added.

“Positive if he wants to be in front of someone, but not always,” Iris chimed in.

“He’s been a...a boy?” Henrik said slowly, trying to fix his previous sentence before promptly giving up, “Iris, if you don’t mind me asking, have any of Scout’s brothers come to talk to him yet?”

GIven that there were about forty of them out there, the odds that one of them hadn’t stopped by were pretty low -

“No.” Iris told him.

\- Henrik had never been good at gambling anyway.

“Why?” He asked.

“They’ve either moved on with their lives, don’t care, or are in jail.” Iris said, “Maybe all three for some of ‘em.  Scout’s younger by about a decade, an’ he had a different dad. Not many of ‘em were close to him.  My next youngest maybe would’ve, maybe, but he’s busy with his own family.  Don’t think any of the others would make a special trip.”

“ _None_  of them want to stop by and just talk to him?” Henrik asked, shocked by her response.  What sort of ungrateful children didn’t even stop by to help their mother out with a sibling?  Certainly one of them would be stopping by for the holidays at least -

“None of ‘em are coming by for Christmas either. Say they don't have time,” Iris added, “That’s probably not helping Scout’s mood any at all.  Least I don’t think so.”

“I see,” Henrik said slowly, trying to wrap his head around what he had just been told.  

Out of fifty kids, and siblings, not even one of them could stop by?  Those things he thought he knew about siblings had apparently been more wrong than he had figured.

“Alright, so...Anything else that might be bothering him?” Henrik asked, wondering how deep this rabbit hole went. “Could he have gotten into a fight with a friend or something?”

“You're assuming that he _has_ friends, “ Julien scoffed.

“Julien, he has friends-” Iris paused, “He has ‘em somewhere, I'm sure.”

“That baseball team he used to play with has all but abandoned him, instead flitting around their new star, graduating while he had to stay behind, and leaving him in the dust as they all moved on.  Have you noticed that he had long since stopped joining them in the dugout during games?  The closest thing he has to that was helping out with the little league players.” Julien reminded her, “And when was the last time he told us about someone that's not a coworker?”

“He talked about his class with Mary Beth just the other day.” Iris countered.

Henrik looked between Iris and Julien as he waited for them to continue, suddenly eager to hear about this other woman in Scout’s life.  There was a Mary Beth?  There was another girl?  Had Scout dumped Pauling because there was someone else?  Was he really that fickle?

“Ah, yes, the seventy-eight year old non-traditional student that he sits next to in Algebra.  How ever could I have forgotten?” Julien deadpanned, “Her bringing home-baked cookies to class must make them the _best_  of friends.  I’m sure her asking him to explain what a pedophile is, and why it isn’t actually related to feet, will only help their friendship _grow._ ”

Okay, never mind about her being competition for Pauling.  Unless Scout measured love in baked goods- which actually wasn't too unlikely considering that his mom ran a bakery- Pauling was still the only real romantic option in his life right now.

“You know, that sarcasm is a reason he doesn’t like talking to you.  I think it's sweet he's found someone like that to talk to,” Iris said, “Better than those brothers and... _former_ friends that started hanging with junkies and alcohol-guzzling frat boys.”

“Is that why you insisted he go to the local two-year school?” Julien asked, “Because over half of your boys dropped out and caused trouble?  Was it so that you could keep an eye on him, Iris?”

Half of them had dropped out?  Henrik did some quick math in his head.  If half of them had dropped, then...thirty of them had.  Whoa.

“I wanted him to stay close, Julien.” She said, “I want him to succeed, I want to give him a chance out there, but he's not ready to go it alone.”

“True.  But I wonder how much you're not ready to let him go yet.” Julien replied, seeing Iris shoot him a look, “ I understand, though.  I understand why.  And even if he goes back and gets that degree, I don't think he'll want to leave.  He loves you as much as you love him, and he's seen what the others have done.  Don't worry about that, Iris.  He is a good kid.”

Henrik listened to the couple talk, feeling about as awkward as a third sleeve on a shirt.  He took a seat, crossing his legs and waiting until the two of them were done debating, already trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed say to Scout.

“Julien, have you ever told him that?” Henrik asked absentmindedly.

“Pardon?” The Frenchman asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

“Have you ever told him that you think he’s a good kid?” Henrik asked again.

“I-...” Julien paused, “Why do you ask that?”

“He’s convinced that you hate him, that you pretend he doesn’t exist.  Told me that the other day,” Henrik said.

“He what?” Julien asked as he leaned forward, exchanging another look with Iris, this time a confused one, “...Henrik, what else did he say?”

“Well…” Henrik gently furrowed his brow as he tried to remember that conversation that he had had with Scout the other day, but stopped when he looked back over at Julien.  If he was going to go about revealing more of the conversation that Scout had trusted him with, then he needed to ask something first.

“Why do you want to know?” Henrik asked, fingers clasping over his crossed leg.

“Why?” Julien repeated, “Because this sounds like the type of thing Iris and I should be told about.”

“Yes, but why do _you_  want to know, Julien?” Henrik asked again, “Do you want to know so that you can punish him for speaking his mind, or so you can set about making a change in your tumultuous relationship so that both of you can find a mutual middle ground in which you can thrive?”

That shut Julien up.  He started at Henrik for a moment, then looked at Iris, then at the ground, his legs, the ceiling, and then back at Henrik.

“I thought you ran a coffee shop?” He finally asked, moving his arm as Iris sat on the arm of the chair. “When did you become a therapist?”

“Hair stylists, spa workers, and baristas have to become part-time psychologists, thanks to their profession,” Henrik said with a shrug, “You listen to the customers, mostly because you’re trapped and you have to, you get to know them, they talk because they have someone to talk to and they want either your advice or your silence.  When you’re hearing different stories all day long, you start to learn a thing or two.”

Shame that it wasn’t always easy to incorporate those ideas into his own life.  Shape up, get out there, take chances, and actually allow love and life to happen.  It was all easier said than done.  It really was.

“I want to make things smoother with him.  We’re always snapping at each other, which I am partially to blame for, I know, and I want it to stop.  Your help would be appreciated.” Julien said.  He grew quiet, gently pulling on the fingertips of his gloves before he pulled the leather tight again.  He repeated this action twice before he looked up at Henrik and spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to try to live up to the memories of a dead man?” He asked,  “Do you know how intimidating it is?”

The question caught Henrik off-guard.  He straightened up in surprise, sparing a glance towards Iris.  From the look on her face, the question had caught her off-guard too, and he could only try to guess what was going through her mind right now.  He wouldn’t dare venture a guess.

Henrik pondered only a moment before he knew that he had no answer to give.   

“Can't say that I do.” He finally admitted, “I imagine that it’s quite difficult.”

“It is quite difficult.  You’re forever compared to a man who can make no more faults than he already has.  Compared to a man that you don’t know.  You’re expected to stand in for someone that you’ve never met, for a man that he loved dearly for what he did and yet despised for what he’s done.  A man that was part of a happy past, but a part in destroying his future.” Julien said more firmly, “It is quite difficult _indeed_ , Vogler.”

“You have my sympathy, Mister Durant.  From the sounds of things, you’re quite tired of living in his shadow.” Henrik said, “That doesn’t mean that you can’t try to be a father to the boy, try to be someone to him and let him someone to you...Scout wants you to try, Julien, at least I think he does.”

“I have-”

“Not to him.  Whatever you’ve done hasn’t convinced him that you want to be there for him,” Henrik said, mentally combing through his conversation with Scout, “Surely there’s some way the two of you can bond?  He talked about all the bonding he had done with his father, playing catch out on the baseball field and doing homework and things like that.  He feels that you’re distant, that you don’t want anything to do with him.  Show him that’s not right.”

Julien looked exasperatedly to the side, glancing up at Iris as if she could help him.  Instead, she looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to respond with something, anything.  When he didn’t say anything, she prompted him.

“Well…?”

Apparently her response wasn’t the one that he had been wanting.  She wasn’t going to agree with him that he _had_ been trying? Wasn’t she going to offer any support at all?  Wasn’t that something that she, as his wife, was supposed to do?

He watched her slowly stand, watching and waiting for his answer, and he ran a hand back through his dark hair.  He really wanted a cigarette right now.  Shame he wasn’t allowed to smoke in the house.

Why the hell had a discussion that was supposed to be about his step-son get turned onto him like this?  Why had a civil conversation suddenly get turned into an interrogation?  He wasn’t a Spy withholding information, he was a reluctant step-father who was struggling with his role.  How was any of this fair?

“I don’t know how to be a father figure for him.  Is that what you want me to say?  I don’t know.” He said exasperatedly, “I’m pretty sure I know what a father is supposed to be like, I had one, but this is different.  We played piano and read stories together, we put on plays, he taught me how to be a gentleman.  He did not teach me how to father a boy raised by roughhousing and a pushy attitude.  I don’t know how to connect with him.”

Henrik was about to speak, to offer a weak suggestion or two, when Iris instead took charge and spoke up.

“Find something, Julien.  He’s got a few interests that might work for you both.” She said, “He likes working in the kitchen, both baking and cooking, you like that too, don’t you?  Make dinner or breakfast or lunch together a time or two, and talk.  And don’t you two like video games?  I’ve seen you play before, Jul, while he was out. Play some games with him, bond...If you were having so much trouble with this, then why didn’t you ask me?

“Because-”

“Because what?” She said, “You two men both have dicks in common, but that doesn’t mean that you’ll be best friends because of it.  I’m his mother for Christsakes, I raised him, you can come talk to me, Julien.”

“And look helpless because I don’t know how to communicate with a twenty-three year old boy?” He said.

“No, not helpless.  Scout’s...He’s a good boy.  A special boy.  You just need to find an even ground to talk to him on, so neither of you’s wanna fight the other, you know?” She said, “Just talk with later, Julien, we’ll figure something out.”

“Alright, Iris, I will.  We’ll plan out something to give it a try” Julien said with a tired sigh, “But, before we start to get too far ahead of ourselves, perhaps we should have Henrik talk with the boy first, like you wanted him to.”

“I would like to hear what Scout has to say too,” Iris agreed  as she stood up, “I’ll go get him.”

Henrik waited only a few seconds after Iris began walking to finally speak up again, seeing that he had a chance to speak now that the spousal soap opera had gone off the air.

“Julien, I-...You-...” Henrik stuttered, unsure of where to begin, “You know I want what’s best for Scout, correct?  That’s all that this was-”

“Yes, I know, _Monsieur_ ,” Julien said, “I know that you were trying to help.  You also have to understand that this is as much up to him as it is me.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s not always as civil as you seem. Not that he's always hostile,  but he definitely becomes more friendly around you.” Julien said, “More I believe we have a mutual dislike.  Me because I don't relate well to him and because he doesn't like me, and him because he believes I'm trying to replace his father, which I'm not.”

“He can be hostile?”

“More than you might imagine,” Julien said,  “I assume combatting his brothers for attention didn't help.”

It probably hadn't.   Trying to compete against seventy brothers could probably make anyone hostile.

“I’m assuming that, from what I’ve heard, the fighting’s gotten worse as his mood has?”

“That is a correct assumption,” Julien said, pausing, “The days I’ve driven him home have been some of the worst recently.  With the weather lately, no one should be walking, so someone has to get him, and it’s usually me.  We get in fights but manage to at least clear some of the air by the time we get home.  Not because we want to, but because we both love the same woman in our own way and we want her to be happy.  That’s why.”

Julien drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair again, fingers pausing only to twitch anxiously for a moment, before he spoke again.

“Henrik, do you remember the day that your shop burned down?  I picked my step-son up that day.  Your place looked...messed up, to say the least.  So did your face, if I remember correctly.”

“Thank you for-”

“I’m not done, Vogler.  On the ride home, he barely uttered a word.  Since then he’s been far quieter and...moodier, I suppose is the word,” Julien looked Henrik in the eyes, “What happened that day, Vogler?  What took place?”

Henrik sucked in a quiet breath, sobering as he thought about what Julien had said.  He had been hoping that that fight with Tyrus hadn’t affected the boy too badly.  He had been hoping that it would roll off Scout’s back, like he had seen other things do.  The kid was tough, he had to be, but there was only so much that he could take, Henrik supposed.

Besides, Henrik shutting himself off from the world and not being there to offer him any support probably hadn’t helped much at all, especially seeing as how he hadn’t let anyone else do it.  Henrik wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t.

Had the fight at the store really affected Scout this badly?  What exactly had happened before Scout had called for him?  When he stepped out, the kid was pinned back against the counter, held down by his throat.  

...That was probably fairly traumatic actually.  

Plus he had inadvertently spilled a hot drink on a woman’s - if she could be called a woman - face in accidental self-defense.  That had seemed to bother him too.

Even with as tough as he acted sometimes, he really did have a soft heart at times.  He always had, as long as Henrik had known him.  Not as soft as Ash, their’s seemed as soft as taffy at times, but, unfortunately, his bravado-filled facade couldn’t always protect him.  That didn’t mean that Henrik wished that it, or he, could have done more for Scout.

Right as he looked back at Julien, opening his mouth to reply with something, anything, to fill the void of awkward silence and offer the step-father a chance at understanding Scout, Henrik was interrupted by Iris yelling from across the room.

“Scout!” She called upstairs, “Can you come down here for a bit, sweetie?”

Henrik, thankful for the distraction, glanced over towards the hallway’s stairs.

“He sleeps on the top floor?” Henrik asked, noting the sour look on Julien’s face.  He hadn’t been please by the subject being ripped away from him

“He insisted.  Said he’d rather us have the ground floor,” Julien said, giving him a look that was to make sure that Henrik knew that their previous conversation wasn’t done. “I think it’s because he wants a space of his own.  Iris and I really don’t go up there much, unless it’s to see him or because we need something up there.”

“And if he was down here, on the ground floor, everyone would constantly be here.  I see what he wanted,” Henrik replied with a nod. “Your carpeted stairs are lovely..”

“Are you being obnoxious?” Julien asked. “Those stairs have been here since Iris and her family moved here, and he-”

“What?  I wasn’t being obnoxious,” Henrik said, both confused and insulted at the man’s defensive tone. “I have concrete steps in my building.  They’re stained, cracked, and hard.  Having a carpet on them seems much nicer.”

“Ah.” was all Julien said as he casually looked away.

“You are quite the verbal brawler, aren’t you?” Henrik said, listening to the tell-tale thumps of someone moving around coming from upstairs, “You seem to get defensive quite easily.”

“Now you’re-” Julien was cut off by Iris calling up the stairs again.

“We have a guest, Scout,” She said, “Just lettin’ you know that we do got someone down here an’ it’s not just me and Jules.”

The noise stopped as apparently Scout did too.  It was quiet for a moment before he called down the stairs to his mom.

“Give me another minute then, ma!” He yelled, the door slamming behind him, and as he went to go do something else before he came downstairs, “I gotta put on pants!”

Iris, content that he would at least eventually be coming downstairs, headed back over to the two men.

“He’ll be down in a minute,” She said to them.

“Yes, I heard.  But he’s got to put on pants first,” Henrik said teasingly, “I still stand by the hormones argument.”

“Oh, you… Anyway, you two didn’t kill each other while I was gone?” She said, a teasing grin on her face, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Did you think that we were going to?” Henrik asked, casting a glance over towards Julien.

“Henrik, I think it’s obvious that Julien’s annoyed that Sc-”

“Iris…” Julien interrupted, giving her a sideways glance, “Why don’t you tell Henrik about that walking rainbow that stopped by your store while you and your son were working the other day?”

A walking rainbow?  Unless there was someone dressed up as a mascot for Lite-Brites, then Henrik was ninety-five percent sure that they were talking about-

“Oh, are you talking about that Ash...person that stopped by the other day?” Iris asked with a smile, “Oh, they...they?  Scout told me it was they, I think.  

“Yes, that's right.” Henrik said,  “Ash worked for me.  I know the bundle of boundless joy you're talking about.”

“They were the nicest person.  You should have seen the way their face lit up when they saw Scout.  I think his face lit up too, just a bit,” Iris remembered, “It was the first time I've seen one of his friends in a while.  The two of them hugged - Ash started it, but Scout definitely hugged them back - and talked excitedly to each other and...it was adorable.  I gave them a cupcake for free, ‘cause they’re a friend of his, an’ they wanted to hug me too... I'm glad he's got someone around his age he's friends with again.”

Henrik paused, thinking about what she had said, before he matched her smile and responded.

“I’m glad he does too.” He said sincerely.

“I wish I could still give him a cupcake ta’ make him smile, like I used to...He’s good at talking to people, but he’s not great at keepin’ them around, you know?  He brags about havin’ friends sometimes, or these cool kids that I’ve never seen that he hangs around, but it was nice to actually see someone for once.” She continued, “I think he does it just so I don’t worry.  I do, though.  Like he’s better at making friends with older people sometimes.  Like Mary Beth, or like you...Not that you’re old or anything, Henrik, I’m not sayin’ that-”

“No worries, Iris, I’ve heard it all before,” Henrik responded, “Last time it was from your son, in fact.”

Still, being compared to what sounded like a cookie-baking grandma-aged woman in terms of age...  that stung a bit.  He wasn’t _that_  old, was he?

If anything, though, the comment proved that Scout was indeed his mother’s son.  Matching accents, mannerisms, and a matching mouth; there was more than them just sharing the same smile.

“Did he really say that?” Iris asked quickly, “God, Henrik, I’m sorry, I’ll talk to him la-”

“Don’t worry about it, Iris, it was just a joke.  More a slip of the tongue that turned into one,” Henrik said quickly, fairly sure that it had been more accidental than for intended humor. “Don’t feel like you have to say anything to him about it.  You don’t.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, “Because I will.  I will have a talk him right this minute if you wa-”

“I don’t want you to,” He said, “You may have it if you want, I won’t tell you how to parent him, but please don’t feel like you have to do it on my behalf.  In fact, I’d rather you didn’t, if you understand.”

Before Iris could respond, there were the telltale sounds of someone slowly, probably reluctantly, descending the stairs, though the noise was dulled slightly thanks to the carpet.  She, and the two other men, glanced over at the hallway expectantly.  

When Scout came into view, thankfully actually wearing some sweatpants and not just bluffing about donning the garment, she smiled a tired, but happy, smile at him, like a mother would look at her son.

When Scout saw three people sitting in the living room, watching and waiting for him, he frowned while his eyes drifted between each of them, like a person that had walked into the wrong hotel room would look at the occupants.

“What the hell is going on?  Is this an intervention?  Are you throwing a freaking intervention party at me?” He asked, jamming his hands into his sports jacket’s pockets as he glared at the adults in front of him. “For what?  I ain’t done a single thing tha-.”

“Scout, honey,” Iris said quickly, “This isn’t an intervention-”

“Then why the hell are the three of you sitting around and talking about me?” He asked. “I heard you talking about me when I was coming down here.  You shut up when you heard me.”

“There’s no need for you to get all defensive,” Julien said, “All we want is to talk to you.”

“Yeah?  Why is my manager here?” Scout asked, “Why the hell did you pull him here?  He’s got enough ta’ deal with on his own already.”

“Scout, I’m here for you right now,” Henrik replied, “You’ve got other people worried, myself included, and I want to make sure you’re alright.  Don’t come in here looking for a fight; I’m not going to take you up on it.”

“ _I’m_  the one looking for a fight?  I didn’t sit three of me around to talk to you, did I?  There ain’t any more of you, is there?” He asked, glancing behind him, apparently satisfied that the three people in front of him were his only problem right now, “An’ I think since you’re ganging up on me I can get a little defensive-”

“ _We’re not ganging up on you-_ ” The three of them said at the same time, stopping to look over at each other in mute surprise.  Looking over at Scout’s face, Henrik saw the frown deepen and the distrust alight in his eyes.  That right there had definitely not convinced him that the three of them weren’t in cahoots.

“SIt down.” Julien said, making sure to exert his authoritative role, like any father should.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do-” Scout started to retort, but Henrik cut him off before he could spit out any more poison.

“Your mother called me, Scout, and asked if I would come speak to you,” Henrik said, “I understand that you’re going through some things right now, and I want to help.  Please give me a chance to; have a seat, Scout, I want to talk to you.”

Scout looked over at him, a small frown on his face.  He complied, albeit reluctantly, shuffling slowly over to have a seat on the couch.  Though they were on the same piece of furniture, Scout made sure to leave as much space, in this case a little more than a cushion length, between himself and Henrik.

“What do you want to talk about?” Scout asked sourly, “This better not turn into a what Jane’d call a ‘talk about your feelings’ hippie hoo-hah’.”

Henrik chuckled quietly in response, caught off-guard by Jane’s words coming out of Scout’s mouth.  Apparently seeing Henrik relaxed enough to smile and laugh helped Scout start to lower his guard too.

“So they called you in as backup or what, Hen?” Scout asked.

“Either backup or a scapegoat to be pushed out in front.” Henrik replied as he turned to look at Scout’s parents, angling so that the boy couldn’t see the wink he sent their way.  Making Scout think that he was more on his side would probably help out a bit. “I’m honestly not sure of an in-between explanation that would sound entirely sincere.”

“No matter what it is, I’m sorry you had ya’ come out here for...this.” Scout apologized, “Can’t believe they made you do that.”

“ _‘Had to’?  ‘Made me’?_ Scout, I think you’re misunderstanding the situation just a bit,” Henrik said gently, “I was asked by a few people to come and check on you, but the decision to come to your place was mine.”

“...You sayin’ my mom didn’t actually threaten to break your kneecaps again?”   

“Not this time.” Henrik said brightly, “Thankful, I think we’ve left most of the threats behind us and have gotten far more civil since your job interview.”

“Okay, that’s good-” Scout paused, “She didn’t threaten to bash your skull in this time, did she?”

“Oh, no.  No, she didn’t,” Henrik said, “...That’s a new one, isn’t it?  I don’t remember hearing it before.”

“Didn’t think she had said it to your face yet.” Scout said, relieved that his manager wasn’t being held here against his will.

“...Does that mean she’s said it to my back?” Henrik wondered.

“If in a car on the drive home counts as behind your back, then yeah.” Scout said, willfully ignoring his mother’s shushing hand signal, “Don’t worry too much, she’s said it about a lot of people.  I think she’s only done it to two or three-”

“ _Scout!”_ Iris said, pausing when she noticed how the mischief lighting up his eyes had faded, “We...You don’t wanna blow my cover that I’m in the M.M., do you?”

“M.M.?” Henrik asked, “What are you talking about?”

Iris laughed playfully, sharing a matching, knowing, nose-crinkling grin with Scout.

“Don’t worry about it,” She said, “It’s a family secret.”

“Oh?  Must be a very important thing you’re a part of,” Henrik asked with a smile, looking between the family members.  It was hard not to grin just a little bit when he saw how playful the looks on Scout’s, Iris’, and-

Henrik’s smile fell slightly.  Julien looked absolutely bewildered.  He didn’t look like he had a clue what Iris and Scout were talking about.  It looked like he wanted to, though.  It looked like he really wanted to.

What sort of family joke could it really been if one third of them was left out?  Apparently when they said family thing, they meant only immediate family.  Perhaps there were some things that they preferred to keep just between them, as their old running jokes…

Was that really fair, though?

“If you don’t mind my prying, what is the M.M.?” Henrik asked, more for Julien’s sake then his own.

Scout, grinned and shook his head, ready to dismiss the question and move on to something else.  Iris, though, was willing to entertain the question and answer it.

“It’s just an term his brothers came up with when they were younger.  M.M. stands for Mommy Mafia.  When Scout was about six, I think, his brothers convinced him that I was part of a gang of mothers that beat people up,” Iris responded, missing the look of betrayal and anger decorating Scout’s face. “He hid behind chairs, the couch, in the dryer, everywhere, because he thought I was a gang leader or something and he was next on my list.  Eventually, he asked to be my first in command, and to join me on some beatdowns.  It was adorable.”

Was it adorable?  Henrik wasn’t so sure.  If all the parties involved were amused, then he didn’t have much to complain about.  He didn’t have to agree, but that didn’t mean that he had to argue.

Besides, anything that he had been contemplating saying would have been drowned out by Scout’s small outburst.

“Why’d you tell ‘em?  I thought that was our thing,” Scout said, his voice teetering on whiny, “I thought it was just for me an’ you.”

Iris was caught off-guard by what her son was saying or why in the world he was so emotional about her sharing their dumb little inside joke.

“Honey, I didn’t think you’d mind me sharing with Henrik.” She said, “I thought you trusted him.”

“I trust Hen, yeah.  I don’t mind you tellin’ him,” Scout said, “But now _he_ knows too.  I thought it was our thing.  Why’d you have to share it with _him?_ ”

“You’re angry I shared it with your step-father?” She asked slowly, glancing over at Julien.

“Yeah.  That was jus’ a thing for you, me, an’ dad” Scout said, “Why the hell did you have to tell _him?_ ”

Apparently being talked about like he wasn’t in the room was enough to piss Julien off pretty badly.  The confused look in his eyes steeled as they bore into Scout’s.

“I have a name,” Julien said, “And unlike you, I don’t insist on being called an idiotic nickname.”

“It ain't idiotic!” Scout near shouted back, “At least I don't talk with a stupid accent.”

Henrik was suffering from conversational whiplash, caught off-guard by how quickly this conversation had gone from decent to horrible.  

From the sound of Iris’ tired sigh, this was nothing new to her.  And she proved her experience by motioning for Henrik to stay quiet,  cutting him off from interrupting, and mouthing for him to stay quiet.  Instead of saying anything, he just let the boys be boys and continue at it.

“French is hardly stupid,” Julien responded, “Now would you just act the least bit civilized?”

“I'm acting as civilized as you are, you hypochondriac-”

“Hypocrite.” Henrik offered quietly.

“-You hypocrite!” Scout corrected loudly, “How the hell do expect me t’ shut up if you won't even do it too!?”

“All I'm asking for is a civil conversation-”

“Civil, my ass-”

“Yes, civil, you ass-”

“Better than being a frog-”

“Enough!” Henrik finally shouted, standing up from the couch, “Scout, sit down.”

“But-” The boy started to argue.

“Sit.  Down.” He ordered.  Scout immediately sat his ass back down on the couch, glaring over at Julien.  It was obviously the other man’s fault that he was in trouble.

“Was that so hard?” Julien asked, taking advantage of the sudden quiet to have the last word.  Henrik wasn’t having it.  He wasn’t letting the other man try to escape scot-free, not when-

“You’re part of the problem,” Henrik told him, “So quiet down, would you?  I’m not done.  I’ve barely started.”

“But-” Julien started to form a counter, but was silenced not only by Henrik looking over at him, but by Iris giving him a look.  Why was she looking at him like that?  This was obviously not his fault.

“If I have to make you take turns talking, and treat you like children, then I will,” Henrik said, “Scout, you start.”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, arms crossed as he sulked, “I don’t got nothing to say to you, or him.”

“Anything for your mother then?” Henrik asked as patiently as he could.

“...For her?” Scout paused, looking down as he actually thought about it.  It looked like he was weighing options in his mind, debating with himself, and arguing against things, all visible only because of the frown twitching onto his lips and the silent shakes of his head before he finally made up his mind.  “I don’t have anything I want to say to her.”

“Alright then.  We’ll come back to you.” Henrik said, watching the hurt cross Iris face, “Julien, have anything that you want to say now that you have the chance?”

“Not a thing,” Julien said haughtily, resting his crossed arms in his lap, “I’m afraid I have nothing more to add to this conversation right now.”

Iris sighed, looking tiredly over at Henrik.

“You see what I’m puttin’ up with?  It’s either shouting fights or silent pouting,” She said, sending baleful looks at both of her boys before they could attempt a counter argument. “I’m sure you can see why the Mommy Mafia needed some backup.”

“ _Ja_ , I see why,” Henrik said, “They fight like a married couple."

“Hey!” Iris said, “You don’t know how Jules an’ I act around jus-”

“I was referring to my marriage, Iris.” Henrik said, giving the exhausted woman a gentle smile before she could apologize, “Don’t worry, we ended it on friendly terms…  Eventually.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” She said. “Not that it ended, I mean, but that it ended up alright.”

“I know what you mean, Iris,” He said softly, “I’m glad about it too.”

The moment that they were having, if it could even be called a moment, was interrupted by a strangled whine of a groan coming from the corner of the couch.  They both turned to see what the noise was about, and only saw a Scout watching them with an unreadable, stony look on his face.

“You alright, hun?” His mom asked, “Not hurting or nothing, are you?”

“I’m fine.” The boy responded through gritted teeth, slowly looking between the three adults in the room.

The conversation dropped in lieu of confusion taking over, as each person tried to come to their own conclusion about what was up with the kid now.  

His mom was certain that something must be hurting for him to make a sound like that, he never would otherwise.  Henrik wasn’t really sure at all, though he had a stray idea or two wander into his head.  Julien looked concerned as he tried to analyze the boy but, upon receiving an annoyed glare for his efforts, soon ceased any attempts to help.

“...Child,” The Frenchman murmured frustratedly, just loud enough for the quiet room to hear, “Such a child.”

“You’re not helping any, Julien,” Iris said, “You’re being a goddamn child too, and you’re supposed to be a parent here.  The man I thought I married wasn’t a child.”

Julien, not earning himself any brownie points, pursed his lips in annoyance at her words, but didn’t respond.  He did wisely stay quiet, but it was obvious from the way that his eyes narrowed while looking at over Scout that he was not happy.

Henrik, curious about what inspired the look on Julien’s face, followed the other man’s line of sight and saw the problem.  Scout was smirking like a cat who had gotten the cream, now that someone one else, especially his step-father, was getting in trouble too.

“Scout, don’t,” Henrik cautioned, “He may not be helping, but you’re both making this whole situation worse.”

Scout scoffed at his words.

I’m making it worse?” He asked, “I’m the one who’s making this whole freaking situation worse?”

“Unfortunately, ye-”

“I’m not the one who arranged a goddamn intervention meeting in my living room.  I’m not the one pickin’ on his step-son,” He said, “You an’ him an’ her are the ones makin’ everything worse.”

“We’re just trying to help you, Scout-”

“I don’t care.” Scout counted, “I didn’t ask for any freakin’ help.  I’m fine on my own.  I’ve handled everything up ta’ now, pretty much on my  own, why’s now any different!?”

Iris finally stood up, tired of the attitude spouting from both of her family members’ mouths.

“I’m your damn mother!” She all but shouted back, trying to lower the volume of her emotional rant. “I raised you.  I knew when you were hungry and when you were lonely before you could even talk.  You may have had seven brothers, but you bet your ass that I did my best to learn about and take care of you all, even when your father was too busy to help.  I’ve seen you at your best and I’ve seen you at your worst.   I know you, Scout, and I know that you’re not doing okay right now.  I know and I’m trying to help you.  ‘Cause I’m your damn mother.”

“If you care so much, then why did you marry _him?_ ” Scout asked quietly, “He’s nothing like dad was.  Dad...dad was a great guy, Mom, he..he was anyway..  And Julien’s...not.”

“Why?” She asked slowly, “Why don’t you like him?”

“‘Cause, I mean…” Scout bit down on his lip with his buck teeth, “...Don’t you understand why?”

“No, I don’t.” She said, “Tell me.”

“Because…” He paused, the nervous look on his face slowly hardening backup. “Then maybe you don’t understand me as well as you think you do, Mom.  You should know at least one reason why.”

When Scout’s cooperation dropped down, so did everyone else.  There was a collective sigh and disappointed slumping of shoulders or slouching in seats.  Almost had gotten him to work with them.  Almost.

Almost, though, wasn’t good enough.   Why saddle a horse if you were only going to almost ride it?  Why make a cup of coffee if you were only going to almost drink it?

Almost was certainly not good enough.  Henrik had not come out here to almost help.  He was set on getting some kind of answer out of Scout.  A ‘for sure’ answer, not an almost one.

There were two ways to try to get an answer out of Scout, at least from what Henrik thought he knew about the boy.  He was finding out that he didn’t know as much as he though he did about the boy’s attitude.  Some of it he could understand, but to be this hostile?  That was something that Henrik had never seen before and, if he was lucky, it was something it wouldn’t be graced with experiencing again any time soon.

But he could either make Scout feel superior, get the boy comfortable with the thought that he was privy only to information that he held, and see what Scout let slip when he wasn’t entirely on guard. Or he could infuriate the boy, keep pushing his buttons until Scout exploded with absolute fury, and hope that an answer of two became clear before, after, and during the destruction.  He much preferred the idea of the former to the latter.  Once Scout was pushed that far, there’d be no going back, not easily.

“Scout, I don’t understand why,” Henrik asked, slowly taking a seat back on the couch, “All I’ve seen is a man trying to be a father.  Why does that make you angry?”

“Are you tryin’ to psychoanalyze me?” Scout asked, “Ain’t gonna work, Hen.  Go analyze yourself.”

“Do you think I need to be?” Henrik asked with a soft laugh, trying to get back on the boy’s good side.

“Mmm, yeah,” Scout said to Henrik’s surprise, catching the man off-guard.

“Why me?” Henrik asked, “What makes you think I need help?”

“Remember when I visited you a couple days ago?  I smelled the booze,” Scout said, “Have to be nose-deaf not to be able to...Dad drank a lot too last couple of years, so I know the smell pretty good.  You’re not drunk now, are you?”

“Goodness, no.  No, I’m not.”

“Didn’t think you were.  Jus’ wanted to check.” Scout said. “If you had driven over here while drunk, I would have kicked your ass.”

“Scout, I would never have-”

“People do stupid stuff while they’re drunk, stuff they normally wouldn’ do,” Scout said with a casual shrug. “Being drunk can make you stupid.  Even someone as smart as you, Hen.”

Memories of his night with Misha silenced anything Henrik had to say back.  He had no arguments.  He was well aware that drinking lowered brain function and dulled senses.  It did make people stupid.  Maybe that’s why it helped people like him, depressed overthinkers, to feel better.

“Have you been drinking?” Henrik asked quietly, glancing over towards Scout’s parents.  Iris was seated on the arm of Julien’s chair, both of them watching and listening intently to what Henrik was slowly conversing out of the boy.  Which meant that it was probably up to him to keep this whole thing going.  

_Wunderbar._

“A lot?  Nah.  Don’t touch the stuff a lot, not really.” Scout said, “I mean, I’ve had it sometimes, but, like, I’m old enough ta’ drink, so it’s not illegal or nothin’.  Stuff makes me dizzy, so I don’t really drink it much.”

“But you do a bit?” Henrik asked, “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Like once or twice this year, tops.  Messes with my meds.  Found that out the hard way,” Scout said with a tired laugh, “Got me, like, super drunk a couple weeks ago.  Meds, like, made me get stupid drunk stupid fast, even though I didn’t have that much.  It was weird.  Getting sober was fun, lemme tell you.  But, fuck, it was somethin’ to do...  Not that I’m gonna do it again.  Once was enough.”

“Your meds?” Henrik asked, “Pain pills still?”

“Yeah.  Still those lil’ suckers,” Scout said, “My back’s still kinda screwed up a lil’ bit, so I’m still takin’ ‘em sometimes.  Been tryin’ ta’ work on a lower dose of the stuff for the last month.  Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“The cold makes it hurt worse, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Scout said with another shrug, “But that’s what an accident like that’ll do to you, I guess.  Screws you up for life.”

Henrik quickly glanced over towards Iris and Julien, to see if the were going to offer and input or general direction for him.  They seemed content to let him keep trying and prying on his own.  

_Terrific._

“Pauling called me today, asking about you,” Henrik said as nonchalantly as he could, “She’s concerned about you too.”

Scout perked up slightly while he listened to Henrik talk about Pauling, but he slumped again almost immediately after.

“Ain’t nothing to be concerned about.” He said. “Just...just...She doesn’t need to worry about anything.”

“But she is.  She saw that something’s going on with you and she called to ask me if I knew anything,” Henrik said, “I told her I would do everything I could to make sure that you were okay.”

“...Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care so much?” Scout asked, “Why are you even still here?”

The question made Henrik pause.  Hadn’t he had to ask the same questions to Misha yesterday?  What had the man said?

“... Because I don’t want you to hurt, either by my fault or me just leaving you to suffer alone,” Henrik said slowly, feeling as if he was absolutely mangling the poetry that Misha had given as a response. “And I care about you as a person.  You’re more than a co-worker to me, Scout, you’re a friend; one who’s important to me, and I want to make sure that you’re okay and see if I can help in anyway.  That’s why.”

The look on Scout’s face softened from confusion to surprise, followed shortly by a look of slight pain.  

That wasn’t what was supposed to happen.  The response was supposed to comfort, not cause any kind of calamity.

Henrik really had mangled what Misha had said to him, turning it from something that calmed people down into one that caused them distress.  Sure, maybe he hadn’t done the best job in getting his point across, but it hadn’t sounded _that_  bad to him.

Scout’s face wasn’t the only thing that caught Henrik off-guard.  What the boy said next stunned him into silence.

“Shit, man, why couldn’t you have been straight?”

Henrik looked over towards Scout’s parents one more time, really hoping that they had something to offer to help him out.  They looked as confused as he did, and probably felt as confused as he did.  That wasn’t going to help him out any, which meant that he was on his own one more time.  

_Fantastic._

“I-...Ah, I’m, uh, not _not_ , um, sort of straight...in a way,” Henrik paused, aware of how lame he sounded right now, and tried to cut his losses with a brilliant finish, “Ah...what?”

“If you were straight I coulda’ hooked you an’ mom up.  I tried to hook you an’ mom up, but it didn’t work.  You didn’t swing that way, so I had no chance,” Scout said with a sad laugh, “Could have had you as my dad.  Not him.  You.”

“Scout…” Henrik said slowly, completely at a loss for words now.  Thankfully, Iris found her voice again and picked up from where he had to stop.

“Honey, Scout, sweetheart,” She said, trying to figure out how vocalize what was in her head and struggling only slightly less than Henrik had been. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You think I had you pick me up at work everyday for fun?  You think I’d forget my stuff in the back and leave you two alone for no reason?” Scout said, “I was waiting for the freakin’ movie moment when you two would start hookin’ up.  Instead you brought home the human fog machine one day for dinner an’ you never kicked him out.  I played nice, I played along, waited for you to break it up like you did with every other guy, but you never did.  I tried so hard...”

“Scout, you can’t just make people fall in love, you kn-”

“I’m not an idiot, mom, I know.” Scout said, “Doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t try and hope for a miracle.  Forgot that miracles never happen.”

“But why Henrik?” Iris asked, looking towards the man quickly, “Not that I’m sayin’ you’re not a great guy, Vogler, it’s just that I wanna know why you.”

“No need to apologize,” Henrik told her, “I want to know why too.  I’m as lost as you are, to be perfectly honest, and would like to be clued in as well.”

If plan B was the one that would get Scout to talk, letting the boy get angry, then so be it.  At this point, Henrik was too stunned to even try to smooth things over before it was too late.  There was no stopping the avalanche that was about to come.

“‘Cause he’s like a freakin’ dad!  He’s been the closest thing I’ve had since dad died!” Scout said as he bolted upright from his spot on the couch, “He’s nice, he listens, he offers advice, he can lay down the law but not until he has to.  He trusts me!  He wanted me ta’ be a manager of his place....He-.....H-He punched a freakin’ man in the face to save me from a whuppin’ or worse.  Have you ever done anything of that, Julien? _Have you?_ ”

“I’ve tried!  I mean I haven’t assaulted many people in my life, but I’m sure that’s not the only way to show affection- ” Julien tried to counter, “Is it my fault that you’re not even giving me a _chance_ -?”

“ _You haven’t done anything to deserve one!_ ” Scout said, borderline shaking with rage and frustration as he started to step closer to the other man. “What the hell have you ever done to even _earn_ my respect?  I’ve tried too, I’ve tried to be the good kid, I’ve- I-...I’m tired of it.  Why couldn’t you have been the one that died?”

“You have been a good-...” Julien looked desperately around for something to say as he stood up, “You can trust me.  I want to be there for you.”

“Do you really wanna be there for me?  Do you?  ‘Cause I don’t think I’m gonna trust you about that either.  I’m not gonna trust you at _all_.” Scout said as he walked closer to the man, “I trusted Henrik, and I still do, but he let me down.  I trusted my dad and that trust ruined my _life_.  Why should I bother trusting you, Julien?  Why should I when all you’re gonna do is let me d-”

Scout’s rant was cut off as he slipped.  His right foot stepped on the magazine that was still laying on the floor.  He didn’t manage to catch himself, legs sprawling out like a newborn deer that had just attempted to walk for the first time.  Instead of continuing with his rant, or saying else, or even trying to get up, the boy instead silently glared down at the floor, his arms noticeably shaking.

Iris wasted no time in getting right next to him, wrapping her arms around his slim frame.  Julien stood, unsure of what to do, debating whether his getting down there would help or make things worse.  Henrik looked away, watching the floor in a different place trying to let the boy at least pretend that his pride was completely intact

Scout’s breathing picked up, his face started to turn a pale shade of red, and the shaking didn’t stop.  He pushed back gently on his mom, not enough to move or hurt her but enough to make it clear that he wanted her off.  She did let go, sitting back on her tucked legs as she watched him start to stand up.

“I’m done.” He said, “I’m done.  I’m done with this.  I’m done with all of you.  I’m done.  I-I quit.  I quit.”

That got everyone’s attention and, if any of them hadn’t been looking at him before, they certainly were now.

“Scout, baby, what are you saying?” Iris asked gently.

“I want to stop this.  I’m done.  I quit.  You win,” He looked around at the three of them, “You all win.  Don’t you feel great?  Congrats, you found out that there’s something wrong with me!  What else is new?  You all want a prize?  Then go open a box of damn Cracker Jacks.  I’m outta here.”

“Scout, I’m sorry but we’re not done with this, not yet,” Iris said carefully, “We still need to talk more, but we can do that later, okay?”

“No.  No, it’s not okay,” He said, clenching his hands into fists, “This is about me, and I want it to stop. So I’m gonna make it done.  It’s done.”

With those parting words, Scout started to head over towards the front hall, back to the stairs.  Henrik, though, had a feeling that if the boy left, this conversation would never be picked up, Scout wouldn’t let it be, and all of this, everything that had been said and done, would all be for naught.  

They would all be left with an almost answer.  Despite everything, it would still only be an almost.

Quietly, Henrik stepped behind the boy, grabbing gently onto the collar of his jacket.  He didn’t tug, he didn’t pull, and he didn’t scold.  As carefully as he could, without startling or angering the boy, he was silently asking Scout to not leave, not quite yet.

That’s why he was completely surprised when Scout quickly slid out of his jacket and, in one smooth motion, sucker punched him as hard as he could in the lower stomach.  If Henrik hadn’t fallen to his knees, clutching at his bruised stomach, and slightly bruised ego, he would have see the surprised look decorating Scout’s face as the poor kid realized that his step-father hadn’t been the one reaching out; Henrik had been.

Before any words could be uttered, Scout took off, nearly crashing into the door as he fumbled with the lock.  Henrik, still grimacing in pain, looked up just in time to see the Scout use his hands to slide down the icy railings next to the stairs, letting the kid take off running.

Clever kid.  As smart as that trick was, Henrik wasn't quite that that he had the dexterity to be able to pull off something of that athletic caliber-

Wait.  Hold on.  Scout was running away.  This was no time to be debating what sort of score Henrik would give that performance.  There was an emotional wreck out on the loose, heading God knows where.

Henrik jumped to his feet, already pulling his keys out of his pant’s pocket.  Unfortunately, he neglected to coordinate this movement with Julien, who was running towards the door after his step-son.  Both men tripped over the other, knocking both of them to the floor, and giving Scout a bigger head start.

Henrik’s keys were knocked out of his hand, and out of sight, and he made a split second decision to leave them.  He didn’t have time to find where they had fallen, he had to go catch Scout.  Besides, it may turn out, where the kid was going, there wouldn’t be roads anyway.  It was better to match him on foot.

At least that was what Henrik tried to tell himself as he ran out the door, too distracted to grab his coat, barely stopping himself from slipping on the icy steps as ran down the stairs.  He quickly looked left, then right, spotting the t-shirt and sweatpants clad boy turn a corner, and begun chasing after him.  Scout was going to freeze soon at this rate; that was not proper winter wear.  At least the boy had shoes on, though sneakers weren’t going to offer him much traction out here, not with this ice.  

Julien jumped in his car, and backed out of the driveway, doing a much better job of watching out for Henrik this time than he had in the house.  The Frenchman was soon driving down the road to where he had seen Henrik run, trying to pursue while also trying to not wreck his car.  That would really slow his part of the chase down.

Henrik ran down the sidewalk, doing his best to not slip on the various, hard-to-see ice patches as the snow continued to slowly fall.  Scout had taken full advantage of Henrik and Julien’s fumbling, and had given himself quite the lead.  As he pursued, Henrik tried to think ahead, to plan where Scout might go next.  

The boy was heading downtown.  What could he possibly be heading for downtown?  What was down here that made him want to run here like this?

Henrik was gaining on Scout, his longer, quicker strides giving him a slight advantage, though it wasn’t going to be easy to catch up to the young former athlete.  The distance between the two of them slowly started to shrink as Henrik made small gains.  He soon found out why Scout had headed to the downtown area.

The crowd.  

It was slightly easier for Scout to slip between pedestrians, his slim frame easily sliding by and ducking between people.  Henrik was by no means heavy, he was built just like, or slightly stronger than, the average man, his broad chest tapering down to his slimmer waist.  That was the problem, though: whereas Henrik was having to apologize and ask to get by people, and losing precious seconds in his chase, Scout was making use of his twiggy form to slip further and further away.

When Henrik finally made it out of one part of the crowd, he paused on the corner, sweeping his eyes from left to right.  Where could he have possibly disappeared to?  He had lost sight of Scout for only a second or two, where could the boy have gone?

As Henrik turned back, to make sure that he hadn’t accidentally passed by Scout somehow, he saw a window reflection of a light blue shirt dodging in and out of the crowd on the other side of the street.  Scout had dashed across the street in an attempt to lose him.

Clever boy.  

But it wasn’t going to work, not this time.

Henrik jayran - he didn’t have time to walk - across the street, running past a group that was also illegally crossing the street.  Scout kept his lead, turning another corner by the time Henrik had gotten across.  The Bostonian certainly wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?

Turning the next corner, Henrik saw Scout dash into a shop, one that Henrik knew had a backdoor to the other side of the block.  The boy really was doing his darnedest to lose him.  Henrik had no idea how Julien was going to keep up with this human shell game, but he wished the Frenchman luck.  Both Julien and himself were going to need it.

Henrik’s run slowed to a quick walk as he entered the store.  He didn’t want to risk knocking anything over and being stalled further.  Despite his attempt to get straight to and right out the door, he was spotted by the shop owner’s daughter, a young woman who occasionally dropped by his shop to talk.

“Henrik!  Long time no see!” She called from behind the counter, giving the man an enthusiastic wave, one that was met with a polite one from Henrik, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been-” Henrik said as he dodged by a sales table.

“I’m sorry to hear about the shop,” She said, “That’s gotta be rough.”

“It’s been-”

“You know, if you ever need any help or anything, you can ask the DeCartes.  We’ll do what we can ta’ help you out.”

“That’s won-”

“You look like you’re in a hurry.” The woman said, watching as Henrik never stopped walking as he talked.

“I’m-”

“Well, drop by again soon.  Go do what you gotta do, tiger,” She said, “I’ll tell the twins an’ everyone that you said hello!  Have a great day!”

“Thanks. Bye-” Henrik stumbled out the back door, looking around wildly for where the boy had gone now.  He spotted him a block up, having crossed a street and continuing on down.  Without thinking, Henrik took off, his sight never leaving the boy.

It was only at the last second that he was aware of a car in his peripheral vision, and he jumped back away as the brakes squealed and the car stopped as it tapped his side.  It only sort of hurt, though it could have definitely been worse.  At least he was still standing.

“What sort of moron are you!?” The driver shouted at Henrik, “Next time you have the urge to throw yourself in front of a car, resist until I pass, you foolish _fool_.”

“I am running here!” Henrik gasped angrily, resisting the urge to punch the dented hood of the old green car as he tried to keep track of Scout, “Pedestrians have-...Pedestrians have the right away in the crosswalk-”

“Murrrrray cares not for the rules when he has thirty minutes or less to drive through the crowded abyss that is the downtown to deliver consumables before it comes out of his paycheck,” The man, apparently Murray, declared, “And now you are wasting Murrrray’s time and destroying his brakes!”

Henrik knew that name.  He had heard it before.  

...Ah, that’s right.

“You’re a friend of Jane’s, aren’t you?  I’m sure that he’d love to hear that you’re yelling at and almost running over his former manager,” Henrik said as he panted, watching as the man’s eyes widened, “Let’s both just go our own ways and pretend that this never happened, alright?”

“...Murray is fine with that.” The man said, slowly rolling his window back up, “Have a good day.  And remember, Trevor Guiseppe’s pizza is-a the best, the only thing fake is the mustache.  Order your pie today.”

Henrik, running off before the sales pitch was over, made it across the road.  Scout was gone this time.  Damn car had stalled Henrik enough to just lose him.  Even if he couldn’t see the boy, he might as well run to the end of the block and see if he could still spot him.

To the left, there was nothing.  To the right, there was nothing.  Scout might have done another shop dash to slip by him.  Now he had to decide if it would be better to keep running without a clue or to head back and tell Iris that her son had gotten away.  Neither option sounded very good.

Neither option would be the one he would pick either.  He caught sight of a head peering up above the crowd, looking his general direction, back towards the road.  When Henrik started moving closer, and catching Scout’s attention, the boy hopped off of the bench he was standing on and began running again.

Scout had been concerned enough about his manager and the car that he had stopped running, only to pause and take a look.  He could have gotten away, but he didn’t because he wanted to make sure that no one had gotten hurt.

Scout was such a good boy sometimes...  

Why didn’t he seem to realize it?

The chase continued.  They were reaching the end of the downtown shopping area.  The crowds would definitely start to thin out from here, so as long as Henrik kept Scout in his sight, he would eventually catch the boy.  That was his hope anyway, the kid moved a lot faster than he figured.

The path was taking was a straightaway, so Henrik put on some more speed.  He used to run in college, he knew that it was most efficient to move faster on the easy paths, and slow down around corners.  Unfortunately, Scout knew it too.  The gains Henrik was making were small, but they were there; at the very least, they were there.

They were passing next to a small neighborhood now, one right outside of the downtown area, with stores and shops on one side of the road and houses on the other.  Was Scout running to go see a friend?  Was there someone that he wanted to go visit right this very moment?

Well, if there was, they certainly didn’t live in any of the houses on the other side of the road.  Scout was sticking to the sidewalk closer to the business side of things.  If it turned out that Scout was running because he had just remembered there was a sale on soda, or something of that trivial nature, Henrik was going to kill him.  Perhaps not kill, but he was going to punish the boy somehow.  If he had to go to Scout’s house and make him mop, then so be it, that was what he was going to.

Scout raced in front of a small group of people coming out of the grocery store, using their bodies to visually and physically distance himself from his pursuer.  Henrik timed his sprint so that he would run right behind the crowd, to avoid losing too much time.  The German was so focused on catching the Scout ahead of him that he neglected to pay attention to decorations out front.  Before he could stop, he hit the sleigh, flipping it over as he went over.  The reindeer, attached to the sleigh, toppled over as well.

Henrik had managed to use his momentum to roll on his shoulder, duck his head, and land on his ass.  Oh, he’d be feeling that tomorrow.  Assuming he wasn’t feeling it five minutes from now.

Weren’t Sundays supposed to be relaxing?  Why couldn’t anything ever be _easy_  for him?

He hopped back up onto his feet, but paused as he looked at the mess he had created, then towards Scout getting further away, and then back towards the mess.  He needed to go after Scout, but he couldn’t just this like...this.  It wouldn’t feel right either.  

Gasping for needed breath as he looked back and forth, trying to make a split second decision about what to do, he felt like he already knew.  He was going to have to make a moral decision, and it was going to be the boring one.  Neither felt right, leaving this mess or Scout to his own devices, but he had to pick one.  If there was only a way that he didn’t _have_  to choose-

“-lo, Henrik!” A familiar gruff voiced said enthusiastically, “It’s good to see you, sir!”

Henrik looked up from his slightly bent position to see Jane grinning enthusiastically at him.  Jane was here?

Maybe there was a way to do both after all.

“J-, ah-” Henrik held up a finger to ask for a moment, “Jane, you, help, this, had- had an accident-”

“My raccoons have those all the time.  Today it was in Murray’s shoe,” Jane paused, “I forgot to tell him.”

“Jane, please, this-” Henrik paused to cough, his throat uncomfortably dry from running in the cold, “You-  Clean-  Reindeer-”

“Do you need a drink?”  Jane asked with concern, peering in his shopping bag, “I have...sour cream.”

“No-  Jane, this.  This,” Henrik was getting desperate, gesturing as he tried to get his point across, “Hit.  Sleigh.   Reindeer.  Fall.  Pick up.  Please?”

“...The reindeer owe you money?” Jane asked, mimicking back Henrik’s gestures as he guessed.

“ _No!_ ” Henrik exclaimed, using more animated gestures as he hurriedly tried to get his request across this time, amidst all of his gasping for breath, “Jane, pick up.  Reindeer. Please.  I.  Have. To go.  Catch.  Someone.  Now.  Getting away.  Didn’t mean to.  Hit.  This.  Will you pick?  It up?  For me?  Please?”

Jane squinted, quietly going over Henrik’s gestures one more time.  In the middle of his reenactment, Jane’s eyes widened as he looked at Henrik.

“Pick them up?  Of course, sir!” Jane proclaimed, pausing before asking, “...Why didn’t you just say so?

It took all of Henrik’s remaining willpower to avoid yelling at Jane.  He had been saying so!  Instead of any retort, he just started running again, shouting back a loud “Thank you!”

“Wait, sir, who are you chasing?” Jane yelled after him, already starting to turn the sleigh back upright, “Is it a hippie?  I bet it’s a hippie!”

“No, it’s- it’s fine,” Henrik said, wanting to avoid making the situation any worse for Scout, “Later.  Explain later.  Tell Murray I said hello!”

“I will, sir!” Jane loudly replied, “Now go show that hippie the truth strength of good ol’ American capitalism!”

With his conscience at peace, and only a slight concern that Jane would join this game of tag, Henrik continued racing down the sidewalk to where he had last seen Scout.  It was all he could do at this point, until he caught sight of the boy’s shirt, or just Scout himself, again.

Once he reached the last place that he had seen Scout, he surveyed his options quickly.  Straight, continuing next to the busy road.  Left, up a hill, and into the neighborhood area.  Right, down a hill, and down into the rest of the neighborhood.

Pausing only a moment before he picked a path, he headed right, doing his best to carefully navigate down the hill.  

Scout had only been hitting sections that were busy with people, but not necessarily vehicles.  It would make sense for Scout to want to avoid running around that close to cars.  He probably wouldn’t be heading straight.

Left headed to a neighborhood.  If Scout had wanted to head to that neighborhood that way, he would have gone and turned into it before the hill.  That wasn’t where he wanted to go.

Unless the boy had doubled back during the reindeer game, then he was going this way.  Henrik was sure.  Half sure.  Kinda sure.  

Well, it made sense anyway.  No one could fault Henrik for that.

Of course, it wasn’t too unlikely that Scout had managed to get behind him…

Henrik stopped running and glanced back behind him.  He tried to anyway.  The ice seemed determined for Henrik to get down the hill right this very second.  Whipping his focus back around to try to stop himself from falling again, he caught sight of Scout at the bottom of the hill.

The kid had slipped while crossing across the road.  No one could blame him for that, the road was basically ice, thanks to the trees keeping the sun from properly poking through.  He didn’t look hurt either, he was just struggling to get back up amidst the ice-covered road.

Henrik would have loved to be able to take advantage of that.  He would have loved to catch up to the boy before he could get up.  He would have loved to cut short this chase before it went on for who knows how much longer.

He would have, but the car speeding down the hill made Scout’s safety his new priority.

“Scout!” He called, getting the boy’s attention.  Scout looked over at Henrik, fury in his eyes, but his face blanched when he saw the car barreling down towards him.  He needed to move.  Henrik wasn’t sure that he would.

“Move!” He called out as he fell behind the car.  He wasn’t going to beat it.  Scout would have to move on his own.

To his credit, Scout was trying.  He just couldn’t get up, stumbling and slipping back down as he struggled on the ice.  It was thanks to that ice that he couldn’t get up, and it was thanks to the ice that car was probably not going to be able to stop.

Keeping his focus on Scout, Henrik watched as Scout fought to get out of the way.  Scout was panicking.  No one would blame him for panicking, not after the accident, but it wasn’t helping.  And, as Henrik saw, it was thanks to that panic that Scout was struggling.

“Move, _Schnell_!” Henrik shouted, “Other.  Move right.  Scout!  Right!”

As the car sped towards him, Scout pushed his right foot down against the ice and, shoving as he could, managed to stumble and slide onto the sidewalk and out of the road just in time.

The car raced over the ice, cracking it was it rolled across.  Henrik made it to the bottom of the slick hill, standing on the curb across from Scout.  The two of them just looked at each other for a moment, both silent save for the heavy breathing.

“C’mon.  Scout.  Let’s- let’s go home,” Henrik said gently, holding out his hand in a sign of good will.

Scout must have taken the gesture differently, seeing it as a directional suggestion than a sign of goodwill, because he wheeled around and started running again.  Stunned, Henrik look down at his hand, mentally screaming all the obscenities that he knew- and he had two languages to comb through- before he started running after the boy again.

Was _nothing_  easy?

That settled it.  When Henrik caught Scout, he wasn’t just going to drag the boy back to his parents’ house to mop the floor, he was going to make him clean the bathrooms too.  

That would show him.

Scout cut between two houses, turning suddenly as he crunched his way through the snowy yards.  Henrik had to slide a few inches, thanks to the frozen water on the ground, before he turned and followed the boy’s path.

Scout jumped a hedge, stumbling on the landing.  Henrik followed suit, though not quite as smoothly.  Wasn’t terrible though, everything considered.  He hadn’t fallen flat on his face at least.

He wasn’t going to lose track of Scout.  He wasn’t going to let anything make him lose track of Scout again.  If he had to following along with the boy’s tomfoolery to keep pace with him, then he would.

Scout had almost been hurt, possibly fatally so.  He wasn’t going to fall behind again.  Not again.  

Not when this much could be at stake.

Scout tried to hop a fence, and almost made it over.  Almost.  His left pant leg snagged the top of the metal, tripping him up.  He was quick on the rebound this time though, finding it easier to jump up on snowy grass than on pure ice.

Even though it didn’t let Henrik finally catch up to the boy, he did close some of the gap between them.  Now it was only a half of a block between them.

No wonder Misha had said that he didn’t want to chase after him.  Henrik could understand that after this mini-marathon he was doing with Scout.  Chasing someone was exhausting.

As much as he wanted to, Henrik wasn’t trying to cut this chase short.  His curiosity was driving him forward. Hen had come this far, he might as well see where it ended up.  

At least that was sort of his excuse for not catching Scout yet.  It had nothing to do with his lungs, legs, and back screaming at him.  Not a thing.

Scout was starting to slow down, just a bit.  It seemed like more of a struggle for him to keep going.   From his position behind the boy, Henrik could see that there was a slight limp in his gait too.

The run must be starting to get to him too.  One of those falls he had taken must have made things not sit right, or maybe it was his back acting up now.  Henrik could sympathize; he had gone over a sleigh, after all.  Soreness of any degree was understandable.  At least with all this running, they weren’t cold anymore.

Then a snowball smacked him in the face, knocking off his glasses and throwing his balance off, knocking him flat on his back in the snow.  That was cold.

“Leave me alone!” Scout shouted, gasping and coughing, as he backed away from Henrik, “Just-...Just stop.”

Now that he had a second to look around, lying, dazed, on his back, Henrik could see where they were.  Scout had taken the two of them down a quiet road behind the houses.  Where they were _exactly_ , Henrik wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t a horrible-looking place.  It was rather nice, and peaceful, actually.

Still, he should probably get up.  As nice as it felt to lay down, it wasn’t going to feel nice for long.

Henrik slowly picked himself up and started running again, taking advantage of having to get his pace back up to try to spot something, anything, familiar.  Nothing stood out.  The only thing that stood out was the fact that there was less and less _to_  stand out.

There were fewer and fewer houses alongside them.  The road seemed to lead to a quiet intersection.  This was a far cry from the busy downtown that they had been running through before.

Had Scout come here because it was peaceful?  That didn’t seem right.  Scout had never minded noise before.  In fact, he was usually the one causing it.  Why was now different?

When he finally had Scout in his sight again, Henrik slowed.  He walked across the road, his breath soft puffs of frozen frost, and stood at the top of a hill  From here, up the incline from the boy,  he could see where Scout had been taking them, where he had wanted to go.

A baseball field.  

They were at a baseball field.  It looked small, at least from what Henrik knew about baseball.  The place was covered with snow, only small patches of the brown grass and mud visible underneath the white cover.  There were only a few bleachers behind the home plate fence; they obviously weren’t expecting a large crowd.  The rest of the field was blocked off by a small chain-link fence which made keeping an eye on Scout easy.

Scout stood at home plate, face pressed against the fence, staring at the bleachers.  He wasn’t just staring at nothing though.

It seemed like he was looking.

And, amidst the empty rows of bleachers, he didn’t find what he was looking for.  Henrik watched the boy quietly limp off the field, down into the dugout, looking like a kicked dog.  He just wanted to keep back, stay a distance where he could just keep an eye on him, and let the boy have his moment, whatever it was.

But when he saw what Scout was doing next, Henrik instead sprinted down to the field, looking for a way to get onto the field himself..

Scout had a bat.  He had gone into the dugout and found a small, kid-sized, aluminum bat that had been left behind by someone.  Holding it tightly in his hands, he glanced down at it, and then looked quietly around the small clubhouse.  

It was quiet.

Then Scout swung.

There was a loud boom as the bat connected with the aluminum that made up the clubhouse, the sound reverberating through the short structure.  Then there was a crack as he swung at the tin benches.  A sharp ping shot through the air as he beat the broad pole at end of the fence, taking another hard swing as he stepped out on to the field.

What Scout was doing, whatever he was doing or getting out of this, it had to stop.  Either he was going to destroy something or he was going to hurt himself.  It had to be stopped now.

Henrik was looking for a way on to the field.  How had Scout gotten in there?  There was a fence bordering every part of the field, how had Scout slipped by?

Spotting a the gate door, Henrik headed over to it.  He stopped in his tracks though, when he heard a sound.

Laughter.  Scout was laughing.  It was wild, it was manic.  That was not a laugh of joy.

It was a sound of pain.

Driven by wanting to get to Scout before things got worse, Henrik raced for the gate.  Pulling on it, he couldn’t get the door open.  It must be locked.  There was going to be no getting through that way.  That meant…

Henrik looked up at the chain fence and sighed.  There was no getting around it, though.  He had to get inside, no matter how much he was dreading it.

 _Nothing_  was going to be easy today, was it?

He grabbed onto the links, already toeing for a foot grip.  A boot wasn’t the best climbing show in the world, but it would have to do;  It wasn’t like he had much of a choice in the matter.   He had to get over the fence.  If up and over was the only way to go, then so be it.

The fence behind home plate rattled and shook as Scout hit it. At the very least the boy’s laughter had started to quiet down.  If it weren’t for that murderous, furious look in his eyes then Henrik might have actually started to feel better… except that look was very much present and very worrying.

The cold metal bit into Henrik’s hands, making him very much regret never having picked up lock-picking as a skill when he was younger.  Playing the violin was great, but it didn’t do much in terms of true usefulness.  At least it had helped build up callouses on his fingers so that the metal wasn’t quite so sharp.

It had also gotten him teased for the violin “hickeys” on his neck and chest when he was younger.  Apparent the skill had loved him as much as he loved it.

What an odd memory to have now...

Before he could reminisce about anything else, Scout’s yelling brought him back to the present, and he continued his climb up the fence.  At least it was only ten or so feet tall, and not twenty.  That was nice.

Scout was beating home plate and the muddy, frozen ground with the bat, yelling and screaming as dulled thuds echoed through the small stadium.

As Henrik climbed, he tuned Scout out at first, instead focusing on not falling.  Something that Scout yelled not only caught his attention, but actually jerked it away.

_“Are you proud of me yet!?”_

Scout wasn't talking to him.  Anything that Henrik tried to say would be drowned out by the boy’s cries.  Nearing the top of a fence was a relief, because words weren't going to help now, only action would.

Scout turned, running to the pitcher's mound, apparently not finding what he was looking for at home plate.  Halfway there, he slipped on the ice, inadvertently throwing the bat past second base and falling face down onto the ground.

 _“I'm tired of this!  I’ve been trying so hard, but I'm tired!”_ Scout yelled, his voice growing quieter, “ I'm tired...and I hate it so much.”

Henrik had just started pulling himself up to the top of the fence, throwing an arm over the top as his foot slipped, just barely keeping himself from falling off.

Scout had crawled to the mound, pausing on his hands and knees to glower at the ground.  His fingers dug into the thin layer of snow as his hands slowly curled into fists.  Head hanging, he fell from hands down to his forearm, and he angrily beat the ground his his fist.

If Henrik had looked at Scout's face, instead of focusing on getting over the fence, he would have seen a look of fury.  The anger though, was also softened by an expression of sorrow. His face showed frustration,  but it also showed regret.

Shifting over the fence was tricky. It was more because of Henrik trying to secure a foothold and a grip before he fell rather than actually getting over.  The sudden silence behind him had him jerking his head around to make sure that Scout was okay.

Scout had turned around, so now he was sitting upright, and he was sliding his-  

That was all Henrik managed to see before his foot slipped off the fence. Almost falling was unfortunately quite the distraction, but Henrik had seen enough to have an idea where this was going.

Henrik may have never liked lugging the huge bags of coffee beans around the shop, but luckily it had been quite the workout for his upper body, especially his arms.  At least it had been enough of a workout to keep him from falling flat on his back.

When he was just short of halfway down, he went ahead and jumped to the ground.  He'd probably be feeling that, and the rest of this adventure, in a few hours.

The minute his feet hit the ground, he started to run to Scout.  He could see that Scout had pulled his left pant leg up and pushed down on a latch on his left leg, ripping the artificial limb off with an angry grunt.  Its dark shell reflected the bright sky, looking oddly threatening in the boy’s grasp, despite how its purpose was to help and not harm.  In his flurry of erratic movement, Scout ripped what looked like a thick sock and a liner off from what was left leg, tossing those items away haphazardly once they were no longer attached to him.  His focus was on the fake leg, and he was going to take his fury out both on it and with it.

The boy had pulled back for a swing, using his leg like a substitute bat, as he attacked the ground once more.

By the time Henrik reached Scout, he had swung three times.  Before he could swing for a fourth, Henrik wrapped his arms around the boy, nearly tackling him.  His prosthetic was knocked loose from his grip, landed only a foot or so from the two males.

“Scout, shh.  Shh,” Henrik said as calmly as he could, trying to keep his voice even despite having to fight with Scout to keep his grip, “It’s okay.  I’m here.  It’s okay.”

He kept his arms wrapped around Scout, pulling the boy’s back against his front.  Scout hit back against him, elbowing and throwing his head back against Henrik.  

Henrik grunted in pain as the solid back of Scout’s head connected with his chin, knocking his head back and throwing his glasses from his face.  He didn’t care.  His grip stayed tight.

The boy’s sharp elbow dug deep into his stomach, and Henrik grimaced in pain.  Scout pulled it back and threw it again, and then once more after that, before Henrik managed to catch his arm and pin it down against Scout’s front with his own.

Scout cried.  He screamed, his words slurred gibberish amidst the heaving sobs.  He struggled and fought, willing to dish bruises and pain while he refused to be forced to deal with his own.  He snarled, angry wrinkles and facial contortions doing nothing to stop the heavy tears rolling down his cheeks.  

Leaning back slightly, ready to dodge another headbutt, Henrik was caught by surprise when Scout tried a new tactic.  Instead of trying to separate the two, Scout instead threw them onto their sides.

They both fell, and both started to struggle for a power position.  Scout was fighting to get away, Henrik was fighting to keep hold.  Someone was going to lose.

Someone had to.

They both grappled in the snow, revealing the muddy dirt beneath. Scout tried to throw them again, so that he could get on top - being on top was the best advantage possible right now - and they rolled.  Trying to use gravity to his advantage, Scout tried to push up off of him, to get away and keep the other man pinned just a minute longer

Unfortunately for him, Henrik had also realized that gravity existed.  When Scout propelled the two of them over, Henrik used the momentum to keep going.  Despite all of his efforts, Scout was still pinned against Henrik’s chest, except this time he was more under Henrik than he had been before

Scout fought hard, he had been raised to fight hard, but his exhaustion was getting to him.  His attempts for freedom were still valiant, but, despite his wishes, he wasn’t going to prevail.  Henrik was holding onto him too tightly, keeping him too close, for Scout to get away.

And as the German gently rocked him back and forth, slowly rubbing up and down his arms, gently trying to quiet his angry sobs, Scout wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

“Shh.  Scout.  Scout?  Can you hear me?” Henrik asked quietly, trying to talk to the sobbing boy, “Shh, easy now.  You’re okay.”

“No-  No.  S’not.  Not okay.” Scout gasped, “My fault.  All m’fault.”

“No, it’s not.  It’s okay-”

“No!  No no no, you don’ understand.  You don’,” Scout said, his words running together, “I killed him.  ‘F I’d been better, he’d be okay.  He did it, but ‘t’s my fault.  Mine.”

Henrik wasn’t quite following what Scout was saying.  That made it difficult to reassure him.  Maybe it’d be easier for everyone if he tried to talk it out.

“No, it’s- Scout, What do you mean?” Henrik asked, “Tell me and then we’ll decide if it’s your fault... Okay?”

Scout must have found his offer at least somewhat reasonable, or it was just too difficult to stop the dam now that it had been uncorked, because he continued rambling away.

“It was a game-...We played a game that night.  The team traveled sometimes, ya’ know?  Drove.  We had to get rides to the games if high school needed to drive ‘round the foo’ball and band.  Dad wanted to come to the game.  He had been workin’, didn’t spend much time together, so he wanted to come.  Drove me.” Scout said, talking before, during, and after the sobs that escaped him. “We lost that game.  Bad.  It was so bad.  The crowd there was booin’ an’ laughin’.  I yelled at our first basemen, cussed him out.  Cussed the ump out too.  Got tossed out in the fifth.  Spent the rest of the game on the bench.”

Henrik listened to Scout talk, staying silent but still keeping a strong grip on him.  He reached up and patted the boy on the shoulder, then moved his hand down to keeping rubbing and kneading at his arm.  He wanted to comfort Scout, but he didn’t want to distract him.  Not from him talking things out.  Perhaps finally getting the weight off of his chest, and sharing his mental burden with someone else, would help.

Maybe.  Maybe not.  All Henrik, and Scout, could do was try.

“Got a talkin’ to after the game from him.  Got smacked upside the head too.  He’d been doin that lately too.  He’d been drinkin’.  It’s baseball, a bad game with your kid bein’ a shit, what else do you do?  Ya’ drink an’ ya’ smack.” Scout laughed, choking on the mucus dripping down his throat. “Had to drive home w’ him..  Team left, no one wanted to give the team asshole o’ the day a ride, big surprise, so I rode with him.  Said he only had a bottle or two.  Said it’d be okay.  Usually it was.  It wasn’t.”

“That’s not your fault, Scout-”

“It is!  It is, it is, it is!  Don’t tell me it’s not, ‘cause it is!” Scout cried out, “If he hadn’ been drinkin’, then he wouldn’a iced out an’ hit the guardrail, an’ if we hadn’ hit the fuckin’ guardrail at seventy miles an hour then m’ dad would still alive an’ I wouldn’a lost my fuckin’ leg!  If I hadn’t been such a bad lil’ shit, if I had been better on the field, then everythin’ would’ve been fine.  He’d be alive, I’d be in the minor leagues like out my dream ‘steada’ major pain jus’ tryin’ ta’ get back where I was and we’d all be happy.   Don’t tell me it’s not my fault, you asshole, ‘cause it is!”

Scout’s floundering for freedom fired up again, fueled his anger and apparently endless moxie, and the conversation quieted down between the two.  Only grunts and growls could be heard while they struggled.  Henrik’s tired arms still held strong, though, and Scout had to stay where he was.

“Do you think you, and everyone, would be happy?” Henrik asked gently.  Arguing back and forth about who’s fault the crash was would get them nowhere and would probably earn Henrik a dislocated shoulder for his efforts.  If Scout was to be persuaded otherwise, if only to lighten the burden on his soul, then it would have to be a different way.

“Do I-?  The hell are you-?  ‘Course we would.” Scout barked back.

“Think about it for a moment, then answer.” Henrik said.  Normally, he would have not bothered to question an answer to a question like that - it wasn’t his place to - but something that Scout had said had him wondering if everything he was being told was the complete truth, or if it was the rose-painted glasses version of it.

“It...it would’ve been fine.” Scout said with an angry laugh, pausing for a moment, “Dad woulda’ quit usin’ an’ bein’ a dope, he an’ mom would’ve stopped fightin’, and everythin’ would’ve been great.  He was jus’ havin’ a rough couple years, that’s all, that was it, everythin’-...It-...it would’ve been great.  Fine.”

“Would it?”

“Y-yeah...yeah, it-” Scout grew quiet, looking down at the ground, before hushedly finishing with, “...It could have been.”

“It could have been wonderful, yes, but it might not have been too.  It might have been far worse than what you have now.” Henrik said, testing to see what happened when he loosened his grip just ever-so-slightly “And, be honest now Scout, Is what you have now really so bad?”

“It...I-” There was that unsure, stubborn pause again, “I don’t-...”

“You don’t what?”

“I-...I don’t…” Scout gulped, “I loved my dad, okay?  I did.  He was my best friend while growin’ up.  I’m like...nine years or somethin’ young’r than the rest of my brothers.  They were all born ‘fore he came, they were all outta’ the house ‘fore I turned ten.  He-he was the only thing I could say was mine.  He was my hero.  Even when there was crap, he was still someone I kinda looked up to…”

“...And?” Henrik prompted, not wanting the conversation to die and get forgotten, “Go on, Scout.”

“I don’ want him  ta’ get pushed away, you know?  I don’-..I don’ wanna forget him.  The way that he was, the good way, ‘fore he stopped bein’ my hero and crushin’ my dreams.  The other one.” Scout said, “Ma’ replaced him way too soon.  I can’t-...can’t do that.”

Scout didn’t seem interested in getting away anymore.  He seemed fairly relaxed, more than he had been at least, and it seemed like he had accepted his pinned fate.  Henrik kept his arms around him, but his grip was far looser now.  It was more to try to help ease the cramping in his arms, but also a sign of trust.  

He did, however, rest his chin on Scout’s head, if only to remind the boy that he was indeed staying put.

“So you think she replaced him with Julien?  Is that it?” Henrik asked.

Yeah, she just got re-re-remarried so fast.  It’d only been a couple months before she found him and they started flirting an’ stuff.  It just happened too fast.”

“Weren’t you trying to hook me up with your mother during that time?”

“Yeah, but that was totally different,” He said with a laugh, snorting as he tried to breathe through his stuffy nose, “You were the better choice.  Obviously.”

“You both lost someone that day.  You lost a father, she lost a husband, you were both hurting, but...” Henrik paused, blowing foggy breath out through his nose as he tried to think about how to word what he wanted to say, “...Scout, if you had an old baseball glove, one that you used for an entire season, and you lost it, would a new one change anything?”

“I-...What?...It’d mean I have a glove?” Scout asked, “Like, am I replacing a Rawlings with a Nike or what?  Cause I kinda like the Rawlings better actually-”

“No, but...just give me a minute, okay?  I have a point.  I really do.” Henrik said, good-naturedly scolding the boy, “Would that new glove take away anything that you had done before with the other one?  Would it change any of the catches that you’ve made?  Would it change a loss to a win?  Would it change a strike-out to a home run?  Or would all of your memories and experiences stay the same?”

“I mean, unless it’s a freaky time-travel glove, then things’d-”

“Your first glove was treasured.  Losing it hurts, because it meant a lot to you.  Nothing will ever completely take the place of that glove.  It may have been falling apart in places, not all of your experiences were the greatest, but you’ll always remember the good times, maybe even more than you would the bad ones, and that’s okay.  That’s wonderful,” Henrik said, “But that doesn’t mean that you don’t keep moving forward.  You can’t let the past hold you back, not like this.  If you just look at the new glove, and never try it out because it’s exactly the same as the old glove, then you’ll never get anywhere.  You’ll never replace what the first glove was to you, but you can still move on, even while giving the new glove a test run, and still show the old glove respect.  You may be replacing it physically, but that doesn’t mean it has to be replaced mentally...Is-...is this making any sense at all?  I know what I’m trying to say here-”

“Aside from the feely-touchy- rambling you’re doing?  I got ya’.  I’m following ya’, Hen.”  Scout paused, “So, I guess you’re saying I should give that new glove in my life a decent try, huh?”

“It might not fit right at first, you might have to break it in a little, but, yes, I am saying that you should give the new glove in your life a chance,” Henrik, paused aware of what he had just said, and moved his head to let him look at the boy, “Scout, please, do not take that to mean that you should break any part of Julien in any way.”

“..Not even his kneecaps?” Scout asked mischievously, a small smile finally starting to form on his tear-streaked face.

“Now you sound like your mother.” Henrik sighed. “Speaking of, I should probably call her and let her know that you’re okay.”

Removing an arm from around Scout, Henrik shifted so that he could reach into his pants pocket and pull out his phone.  He flipped it open, started to open up the saved numbers list to find Scout’s home number, noting that he had several missed calls from them.  At least he figured that was what the blurry text announcement on his phone was telling him.

Giving up before he started what he knew was a near fruitless task, he held the phone out so that Scout could see it.

“Tell me when I’m on your house number.  Can’t see the phone without my glasses.” He said, “Even if they’re out looking for you too, we can leave them a message.”

“Okay, Hen.” Scout said, “They’ve called you about seven times, you could just call them from-”

As he spoke, the phone beeped, and a red battery flashed onto the screen as the dead phone turned itself off.  Henrik and Scout sat there for a moment, just staring at the phone with frowns on their faces.

“Did your phone really just die?”

“I...didn’t charge it last night.  Slept on the couch instead of the bed and didn’t plug it in,” Henrik sighed, “Figures that it waited for me to look at it before it had its dramatic death scene.”

Scout laughed quietly, more of a sad understanding than him finding humor in the situation, waiting as Henrik tucked his phone back into his pocket before he spoke again.

“Hen, listen, you can let go of me.  I’m not gonna run away.  I can’t.” Scout said as he pointed down at his stump, trying to play off his words, but all they came of as were a bit uncomfortable. “I’ll stay right here while you look for your glasses.  Scout’s honor.”

Henrik slowly, cautiously, took his other arm off of Scout, waiting in case this was some kind of trick.  He was normally a good face reader, but not being able to see Scout’s face, or much else, clearly made that difficult.  Still, he decided to trust the boy, and moved back carefully as he felt around for his glasses.  After a year and a half or so - Henrik wasn’t quite sure of his recovery timeline - of putting on his prosthetic, Scout was probably pretty fast at it, but he probably wasn’t faster at it than Henrik’s reflexes were.

“I see ‘em, they’re more behind you,” Scout told him, “Kinda to the left too.  Man, I hit you hard, didn’t I?”

“I assure you that I am still feeling it,” Henrik said, skimming his hand along the frozen ground, “Both that, the run, and the sucker punch.  I’ll be feeling it more later, probably, when the adrenaline wears off.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.  Didn’t realize it was you...for the punch anyway,” Scout said, “Hey, Hen?  Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly, you can ask me almost anyth-”

“Are you mad at me?” Scout asked quietly.

“Mad at you?  What?  No, I’m n-” Henrik paused, realizing that arguing with him wasn’t going to work; they probably needed to talk this one out too, “...Why would I be mad at you, Scout?  Tell me.”

“Cause you just ran halfway across town ‘cause of me?  ‘Cause it's my fault you’re even out today?  ‘Cause I couldn't help you fight any really that day?  ‘Cause I didn't wanna be a manager?” Scout asked, “Shoot, man, I don't know.  Pick a reason.”

“...Do you want me to?” Henrik asked, “Because, truthfully, I'm not angry at you. I promise.“

“For real?” Scout asked hesitantly, his tone revealing his doubt.

“I'm not angry we ran halfway across town.  I'm more surprised that we both lasted this long.  I'm too impressed to be angry.  And considering how long I've been holed up in my apartment, it's good for me to have a reason to get out.” Henrik said simply as he continued to ghost his fingers along the cold ground, trying to counter each of Scout’s points one by one. “You shouldn’t have needed to fight that day.  None of that should have ever happened.  None of it.  Don’t blame yourself for any of it.  And taking the manager position was entirely up to you. I’m not exactly sure why you didn’t want it, but I can respect you decision and am happy no matter what you pick...I only hope that you take it as a compliment that I thought you were manager material.  That’s all I want you to take away from it.”

“You’re not angry?  At all?” Scout asked hopefully, “Does that mean that you...get why I didn’t take the position?  Like, you understand, right?”

“Um, actually…” Henrik paused, smiling sheepishly at Scout as his fingers brushed against the frame of his glasses, “I don’t.  Not exactly.”

“Aw, really?  You don’t?  Really?” Scout asked. “I don’t guess there’d be any harm for telling you except for, like... my ego.”

“Scout, if there’s anything that can dent your _robust_  ego, then it’s not something as simple as why you didn’t want to take the job-”

“It’s cause I didn’t want to give up the night shift.”

“I would have let you keep the night shift, Scout.” Henrik said, slipping his glasses back on.

“No, I mean, I liked working at night with _you_ , Hen.” Scout said, “You’re someone I can talk to about stuff.  You’re...you’re like a dad to me.  I didn’t want to lose that.  If I gotta turn down a promotion so that I can keep that shift with you, and talk and get advice and just have that time to hang out with you, and actually be treated like a normal guy an’ not a cripple or be called names and crap like I was at McDonald’s, then hell yeah I’m turning it down.  I really want to help you out, Hen, but can ya’ really blame a guy for wanting to spend time with someone who’s...his hero?”

After hearing Scout’s reason, Henrik just stared at the boy.  Wind whistled around them, and the slick sheen of sweat on Henrik’s body helped the frigid breeze send shivers down his spine.  He was sure that the chill he felt crawling over his goosebumped skin was not just because of the wind, though.

Him?  Someone’s hero?  How?

...Why?

He had thought that Scout’s mother saying that the kid looked up to him was a polite exaggeration just so that he would actually come.  He had thought that she was stroking his ego to encourage compliance.  He hadn’t actually thought that it was true.

He hadn’t ever thought that he could be anyone’s hero.

When he was younger, he had always loved the idea of having children.  He wished to be the kind of father he always wanted, and had desired to have at least a child to call his own.  But with Edith against having them, and as the years as gone by, he quietly had kept that wish to himself.  Being a father had been a dream for him.

It had been a dream that he had long since given up on.  Something that, he was certain, was only ever going to be a dream.  Yet, here it was - a version of it anyway -, staring him right in the face.

Having someone call him both a hero and a father figure?  Having someone look up to him like that?  It just made all that emotion that he thought he had smothered start to bubble over in a way he had never thought would happen.

Looking over at Scout, without a word, Henrik pulled himself closer to him.  Scout opened his mouth to speak, raising a finger as if he felt like he had to explain himself, but all that came out was a nervous squeak.  He flinched as Henrik lifted up an arm, but relaxed when he realized what the other man was doing.

Henrik was giving him a hug.  Both of the German’s arms were wrapped tightly around his body.  This time, though, instead of trying to restrain Scout so that they could talk, it was to show familial affection, the move to replace the words that Henrik couldn’t find to express just what he was feeling right now.  He wasn’t entirely sure.

“I’m proud of you, Scout.” Henrik quietly said to Scout,  “More than you realize.  I am so proud of you.”

It was only for a minute, a short minute, before Henrik let Scout go.  He shifted away only slightly, looking the boy over as he gently wiped at a damp spot under his eye, a slight smile present on his lips.  

Scout had odd look on his face.  It was wistful, it was surprised, but, above all else, it was happy.  The look on his face was happy, even as his eyes grew damp and a bucktoothed smile formed on his face.  It was silent between the two of them, both going through different sets of emotions, until one of them spoke.

“Hey, Hen, uh, listen,” Scout said as he rubbed at his arms, finally breaking the quiet between them, “I’m not like into guys or nothing, I don’t think, not that I got a problem with it, but if you want to give me another hug, I ain’t gonna complain.  It’s freakin’ cold out here.”

That small complaint was enough to bring Henrik back to reality, and he paused for only a moment before he tried to help out in any way that he could.  Considering the current situation, there wasn’t much that he could do.

“Um, do you want my coat?  I could give you my-” Henrik looked down at his mud-splattered torso and realized that he hadn’t actually grabbed it, “We should get out of the wind soon, that will help, you t-shirt wearing maniac.  You’re still feeling alright, yes?  Just a little cold?”

“Whoa, calm down there, you mother hen.  I may have ditched my coat, but you’re the one that pulled it off in the first place,” Scout laughed, “I’m good.  Just getting a little cold.  Should probably stick my leg back on soon, with all of its damp goodness...Oh, joy.”

“Speaking of, um, you know.  Scout, I do have a question for you.”

“Go ahead, man.” Scout said, “Is it about how I stick it back on?  It’s not as hard as you think-”

“No, actually, it’s about Pauling.  She wanted me to ask you why you broke it off with her all of a sudden,” Henrik said. “I feel like I know the answer to this one, but, please, tell me.”

“How would you kn-?”

“It’s because of your leg, isn’t it?” Henrik asked, “She told me what happened during the movie.  It reminded you about your father and your leg.”

Scout sighed, fingers digging into the pitcher’s mound as he tried to find something to say.

“It’s not just about my leg, Henrik.  I mean, yeah, the movie reminded me I’m a guy with plastic-carbon fiber-plastic-thing attached to my stump, who’s lost his leg knee down ‘steada’ just a foot or anything, and I don’t have any cool robotics that might actually make me...better or...It’s-...it’s because she deserves someone better.  She deserves a whole guy, a guy who’s not going to hold her back any.  Someone like her?  She deserves more than seventy-five percent of a dude.” Scout said, “I’m sure she’s happy we’re done already-”

“Wrong.  She was disappointed,” Henrik said gently. “Said she had been looking forward to another date and getting to know you better.  Besides, after that run, do you really think you’re going to hold people back that badly.  Scout, you really should stop assuming that you know what peop-”

“Her?  Disappointed?” Scout interrupted, his mocking laugh quieting down into something far more sobering, “..You better not be lying to me, Henrik, I swear to God-”

“I’m not.  Why would I?  Those were her words, not mine,” Henrik said. “Now, are you still happy with your decision?  Because, if you are, I’ll leave you alone and I’ll let her know that you reall-”

“No, no, wait.  Wait.  I still wanna-  She’s-...Does she still want to go out on a date with me?” Scout asked hopefully, “Do you think she’s gonna laugh or anything when she sees half of my leg is fake?  You think she’s gonna be angry?”

“Her?  No.  From what I know about Pauling, I don’t think it’ll change how she looks at you.” Henrik said. “The only way to really know, though, is to ask her yourself. If you want to try it again with her, you should give her a call later, tomorrow maybe, or tonight if you feel like it.”

“Hell yeah I will, Hen, she’s, like, the prettiest angel-”

Henrik couldn’t help but smile as he let Scout prattle on for a minute, going over how beautiful and sweet Pauling was to him.  That was the kind of talk he had heard coming from Scout, back during those late nights at the shop, with Scout going on more about how incredible she was than how she was too good for him.  Things seemed to be going right again.  Everything seemed to be okay once more.

“- And, like, we held hands during the movie too.  Her hands are so soft.  Don’t know if she noticed I was gripping the armrest real tight or not, but she reached over and just put it on top of mine.  Her’s is so small too.  Hey, if she likes me that much, d’ya think I could maybe get a ki-”

There was a squeal of brakes on the road up the hill.  Looking, both Henrik and Scout saw Julien’s red sportscar haphazardly parked on the side of the road.  The Frenchman jumped out of the car only a second later, finishing up a conversation he was having on the phone, sprinting across the road.  He slid down the hill somewhat gracefully, despite the snow.

“I should probably go get the door for him,” Henrik said, glancing over at Scout.  The boy’s face showed that he was nervous because he knew he was in trouble.  Henrik just hoped it didn’t turn into a shouting match like earlier.

“You’re gonna do what?” Scout asked slowly, “Julien can open the door for himself, Hen.”

“Wait...”  Henrik paused, glancing over towards the door as Julien neared it, “I tho-”

He grew silent as he watched Julien push the door open effortlessly, pursing his lips in frustration.

The door hadn’t been locked.  It needed to be pushed open.  Not pulled.  That meant...

_Verdammt._

He didn’t have long to sulk, though, because Julien was sprinting over towards them, slowing as he realized that Scout was okay.  Watching his step-son, Julien was watching and making sure that it was alright for him to step closer.  

Scout watched him cautiously, but gave no sign that he wasn’t at least a bit welcome to come closer.

Henrik moved away slightly, sitting down to the side of the possible reunion.  Keeping an eye on Scout’s face, he observed the boy scanning Julien’s face, most likely searching for any warning sign of anger.

Julien finally was next to Scout, and he slid down to his knees, sinking his knees down on the snow and mud to tentatively wrap his arms around Scout.

“I checked the high school field.  Did not see you there.  I was terrified,” Julien said,   “Did not realize you had gone to a different one.  Did not know that there was a different one.  I am so sorry, Scout.  I am sorry for the fighting, I am-”

“We’re kinda both to blame for that,” Scout admitted, slowly, ever so slowly, wrapping an arm around his step-father before he paused, “Neither of us are-...Did you just call me Scout?  An’ not, like, in a sarcastic kinda way?”

“Oui. I did,” Julien said, slowly pulling away from the hug. “You do not mind, do you?  That’s the name you like, yes?  I can still use it?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, that’s it,” Scout told him, “You’re more than welcome to call me ‘Scout’...dad.”

Henrik watched as Julien leaned back in surprise and confusion, and Scout’s face just screwed up a bit, revealing that he was thinking about something.

“Okay, no, can’t do that yet.  I tried.  Dad’s too much.  Can’t do it.” Scout said, “Can I just call you Jules?  That’s still cool, right?”

“That’s…” Julien paused as he tried to remember the American slang he had heard before, “That’s way past cool.”

Scout, caught off guard, barked a quiet laugh before he caught himself.  He glanced over at Henrik, obviously searching for some sort of approval for his behavior right now.  Henrik gave him a smile and a thumbs up, both of which delighted the boy.  It was the reassurance he needed to know that he was on the right path right now, that his trying wasn’t going to be in vain.

“You must be freezing.  I can feel the chill on your body through ” Julien murmured as he took his suit coat off, draping it over Scout’s shoulders. “Here, wear this until we go home.  It should help keep you warm.”

“Uh, thanks,” Scout said, “Is mom still at the the house?”

“Um, well,” Julien glanced between Scout and Henrik, a sheepish look on his face, “When I told her Scout wasn’t at the high school field, she wanted to go find him.  She may have borrowed your car, _Monsieur_  Vogler, in the heat of the moment.  I hope you do not mind too terribly much.  In her defense, she did attempt to call and ask you first.”

 

“Is she bringing it here?” Henrik asked.

“ _Oui_ , yes, she is heading over here now.  I just called her and told her when I spotted you two.  She shouldn’t be long,” Julien said, absentmindedly buttoning the coat onto Scout. “She also grabbed your coat, when you realized that you had forgotten it, so she’ll be bringing that too.”

“Ah, then as long as my car is still in one piece, I don’t care where she took it.”

“She is a good driver.  She may yell at other drivers sometimes, for their idiocies, but she’s generally good at avoiding collisions with them, even when emotional-” Julien reassured him, getting interrupted before he could continue.

There was another squealing of brakes behind them, and Henik saw his car up on the hill.  From what he could tell, the car seemed to be fine.  Then again, he could only see the passenger side of the car, so who knows what the other side looked like.

“Scout, let’s at least make an effort to meet her before she attempts to descend that hill in heels.  Of course, I am just assuming that she’s in heels...” Julien said, watching as his wife stepped out of the car. “Do you want to...reattach your-....?

“Uh, yeah, okay, don’t want her to sprain her ankle,” Scout said, looking at his discarded leg and, socks, and liner.  The snow had soaked the latter two, making them look quite damp and uncomfortable.  Scout gulped, surveying the items one more time before he looked back up at Julien.  “Would it be, ah, too much if I asked to be carried up there?  ‘Cause I don’t wanna put any of that back on yet, and trying to three-leg race it is just gonna be a pain.”

“Carry you?  Of course.  I can do that,” Julien said, turning when he heard the gate door squeak behind them.  Iris was already on the field, wearing boots now, running towards her baby.  She tossed Henrik his coat, and then nearly tackled Scout and Julien as she engaged the two in a momma bear-style hug.

Apparently she had figured out how to use the door, too.

“Don’t you ever run outta the house without tellin’ me where you’re going again, okay?  You scared me half to death,” She said, talking between the soft kisses she was planting on Scout’s face. “Did you really run all the way here?  You made it this far?  How are you feelin’ after that?”

“Sore.  End of the stump feels kinda raw, and I slipped and jarred some things,” Scout said, “But, yeah, I was runnin’ like most of the time.  You shoulda’ seen me, ma, I did that.  I really did it.”

“I’m still angry at you, Scout.  Don’t think that I’m not.  But it’s mostly because I was scared for you, honey.  Wasn’t sure that I was gonna see you again,” She said, pulling back from the hug, though she still kept her hands on his arms, “But I’m proud of you for getting all the way over here.”

“What about Henrik?” Scout asked with a grin, catching the German’s attention as he pulled his arms through the sleeves of his coat, “He made it all the way over here too, and was on my tail, like, the whole time.”

“I’m proud of you too, Henrik,” Iris said with a grin as she looked over his way, “Was m’boy really that fast?”

“Iris, it was like chasing a squirrel,” Henrik said. “He was fast, always on his toes, and somehow always ahead.  Though, to be fair, he did have a head start when he-”

“I already apologized for punching you,” Scout said. “You want me to apologize again?”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Henrik said with a quiet laugh as he stood up, “Tomorrow, I might, but for the moment, my pride is sated.”

Iris looked back at Scout, giving him another small hug.

“You ready to go home, Scout?” She asked. “I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate or somethin’.”

“Yeah, I’m ready to go home, ma.” Scout said, “Let’s...Let’s all go home.”

Julien, sensing that now was the time to fulfill Scout’s request, looked the boy over.

“How do you want to do this?” He asked Scout, causing Iris to glance over at him curiously, “Bridal style or would you rather-”

“Piggy back.  Crouch down right in front of me here, would ya’?” Scout asked him, “That’ll probably be the easiest way ta’ go.”

Iris stepped back as Julien stepped forward, watching with rapt attention as the two men in her life started to work together to accomplish something.  She watched as Scout climbed up on to Julien’s back, and as her husband started to cautiously carry her son out of the park.

She waiting until the two of them were ahead of the others, hanging behind with Henrik, who was busy picking up Scout’s discarded accessories.  Reaching down, she snagged the last sock before Henrik could pick it up, forcing the man to pay attention to her as she held it out to him.

“Alright, what did you say to him?” She asked, “Did you threaten Scout to behave?  Bribe him?  Or did you just honest to God have a conversation with him that’s got him getting along with Julien?”

“Just a conversation.  I’m not sure that there’s a reason to go into the nitty-gritty of it right now, when emotions are still high, but we really did just talk it out.”

“I knew you were good for him.  You’re like the only person I thought he’d listen to,” Iris said as she dug Henrik’s keys out of her coat’s pocket. “Sorry about nabbing your car for a bit.  Hope ya’ don’t mind too much.  I’ll, uh, give you a cupcake or somethin’ later after all this is over.”

“Save that cupcake for Ash for me, would you?  I feel like they’d enjoy it more.  Anyway, I understand.  There was a lot going on, I don’t blame you,” Henrik said as they slowly started following Julien and Scout. “Besides, you brought my car here so now I can go home.”

“Do you not want to come over for dinner?” Iris asked. “You’re more than welcome to.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to pass tonight.  It’s been a long day.  Besides, I think your family needs the alone time for a bit,” Henrik said, “Though, if I may, I would like to ask you a question.”

“Long as it ain’t about any undergarments, go ahead.”

“Did you say something to Julien?”

“Uh, whaddya’ mean exactly?”

“Julien was about as friendly - I suppose that’s the term - as Scout was when he got here.” Henrik said. “I was just curious if you said something to him.”

“Other than cursing him out a bit?  I didn’t say much,” Iris said, “But, um, he may have said some things to himself.  When he called, he said he was checking out the high school field.  He had the right idea about where Scout went, just not exactly right.  Guess he didn’t realize that this is the place that Scout was happiest, a lot of his memories are with this place.  I didn’t either ‘til I thought about it.  But, after the high school, do you know where he checked next?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Went and checked out the bridge.  He was scared that Scout was gonna jump or something.  Think he knew someone that went over it before, but I don’t know,” She said as the two of them started to head up the hill. “Probably freaked himself out into behaving better, you know?  When he realized that Scout could’ve been gone forever over somethin’ as stupid as verbal slap fights, it probably made him rethink things a lil’ bit.”

“If I were in that position, I would too.” Henrik admitted quietly, “Don’t realize what you have until it’s gone.  We take a lot of things for granted until they’re yanked out from under us.  Though I’m not thrilled that Julien had to be scared that badly to start shaping up, I’m glad it happened now before things got worse.”

“I know what you mean,” Iris said, reaching into her pocket one more time. “Here.”

Henrik looked down at the money in her hand.  Fifty dollars.  She was giving him a fifty dollar bill.  

...Why?

“You don’t-” Henrik looked at the fake leg in his hand and joked, “I was going to give this back without being bribed you know.”

“Listen, just take the money.  You’ve done a lot for us today.  You’ve saved everyone a lot of grief, and hopefully a lot of fighting.  You ran after him when no one else could, even though you didn’t really have a reason to,” She said, pausing to bite at her lip, “...Also, a pizza delivery car passed me so close that he ripped off your mirror and I’d like to compensate for that just a bit because I feel guilty even though it wasn’t entirely my fault.”

Oh.

“...I’ll take the money.” Henrik said flatly as he held out the leg, “Was the car green, by any chance?”

“Yup.” Iris said as she took Scout’s things off of Henrik’s hands, asking, “How’d you know?”

“How?” Henrik asked, “Magic.”

The answer made Iris knit her brows together, but only for a moment before she decided that she was satisfied with it  She took a step over towards her boys, but stopped again.

“You know, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him this happy.  Like, I don’t know what you said to him, but he looks so cheerful right now, it’s wonderful,” She said, “Wonder if he’ll be able to start movin’ past the crash an’ his dad’s last words to him now.”

“His father’s last words haunt him in a way?” Henrik asked curiously, “If you don’t mind my asking, Iris, what were they?”

“Well, ya’ see…” She started, “The crash happened after one of Scout’s games, one that was outta’ town, and Scout had some attitude that night.  Pissed his team off royally, from what I hear.  His dad wasn’t gonna have any of it though.  For the last year or two he was around, he wasn’t havin’ much of anything…”

“So what did he say?”

“Okay, you gotta understand that if there’s anything Scout loves gettin’ it’s praise and approval.   He thrives on it, an’ he hates either not gettin’ it, and bein’ talked down to, or havin’ to compete for it-”

“I understand.  I’ve had a small talk or two with him before about things like that.”

“So then you’ll understand why what his dad said to him’s been on his mind all this time,” She said. “He started rippin’ into him.  At least that’s what Scout confessed ta’ me one time, when he was on some meds after the crash.  Told me he remembered talkin’ to him, the actual crash, an’ maybe wakin’ up once or twice before he was in the hospital, once ta’ someone wrappin’ up his...what was left of his leg.  The last memory he has of his father is him yellin and screamin’, abusin’ my son with as many words that he could make hit.  He was not a good man at the end of his life, Henrik, he wasn’t the man I married and he wasn’t the man that Scout looked up to for all those years...  The last thing he ever told Scout was somethin’ like ‘I will never be proud of you.  And no one else will ever be proud of you.’  I’m sure you can see why that bothered him.  I’ve tried tellin’ him that I’m proud of him, but he didn’t want to hear that from me, he wanted to hear it from-”

Henrik stopped listening for a moment when he heard that.  Suddenly Scout’s reaction back a few minutes ago suddenly made more sense.  In a sad, horrible, very bittersweet way, it made far more sense now.

“Someone has told him that they’re proud of him recently,” He said slowly, “I don’t know if that’s why he’s more upbeat now-”

“You did?...Don’t say it wasn’t you, if it had been Julien, you’d’ve said so,” She said, punching him lightly on the arm, “That’s probably it.  I did mean it when I said that you’re like a role model to him.”

“He said I was a hero to him,” Henrik said. “I don’t understand why he’d think that though.  There are so many other people that would make better ones-”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, Vogler.  I can see why he’d think that,” She said, starting to head back over to her car. “Besides, what’s the harm in him thinkin’ that?  If there’s anything we need in the world, an’ in our lives, it’s more heroes that we can look up to, don’tcha think?  Think you’d be happy about bein’ one.”

Growing silent, Henrik followed her over to her car.  If he wasn’t going to join them back at their place, then he at least owed Scout a decent goodbye.  You didn’t just sit in a frozen baseball field, talking about life after a race around town, and not say goodbye.  It was bad etiquette.  Probably.

When Scout saw him approaching, he slid out of the backseat, wobbling on his leg for a moment before he balanced himself.  They looked at each other for a moment, both unsure of what to say.  Instead of any sappy parting words, or any embarrassing each other in front of Scout’s parents, the two of them hugged.

“Would you like to know a secret, Scout?  To keep going like this after everything you’ve been through?  I’m not only proud of you, but I also know that you’re strong.  You’re very strong, one of the strongest people I know even” Henrik whispered quietly into his ear, “...That’s why you’re one of my heroes too.”

When they parted Scout looked surprised, but a huge grin soon bloomed on his face.

“Hen- I…” Scout’s words and thoughts were getting tangled as the emotion of today hit him hard, but he was trying not to let it show, “You’re going home now, right?  Well, then, see ya’ later, I guess?  And, ah, Henrik...Thanks, man.  For sticking with me even after all the crud I put you through.  And the whole talking.  And-...  Thank you.  Dammit, I-... thank you.”

"It was no problem, Scout.  I was more than happy to help,” He said. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

“I could say the same to you,” Scout said, adding, “Might wanna try an ice bath when you get home, to help with the muscles, ya’ know?”

“I’ve been sitting in a snow covered field, enjoying the frigid wind as it steals my breath away for a while now.   I really would rather not submerge myself if frozen water,” Henrik said. “ So, instead, despite your experience and advice, I’m going to rebel and take a hot shower when I get home.”

“Eh, that works too,” Scout said with a shrug, “Tell Archie and the gang I said hello.  Catch you later.”

“Not if I catch you first. “ Henrik said with a smile and a wave as he headed back towards his car.  Scout gave him a wave in return, and Julien and iris offered brief, polite ones as well, as Henrik unlocked his car and slid into the front seat.

Slamming the door shut behind him, he glanced out the window.  Yeah, his mirror was gone.  It looked like it had ripped clean off.  But, as he watched Scout's family start their drive home, he found that he didn't mind too much.

It could be replaced easily enough.  It was inconvenient, but it wasn't the worst thing ever.  Hopefully it wasn't illegal to drive like this, but maybe Pauling would be the one to let him off if it was.

It was nothing compared to the panic of worrying whether or not you were going to see a family member again.  It was nothing compared to losing a part of yourself in an accident.  It was nothing compared to losing all of your childhood hopes and dreams in a millisecond, trying to repair your life and recover your sense of who you were, losing friends as they all moved on as you tried to heal and catch up, forever remaining behind.  It was nothing like the struggle that Scout had been dealing with.

It was but a small inconvenience,  and Henrik was fine with that.

He waited until Julien’s car was turning the corner before he started his car up.  Goodbyes could be awkward enough on their own. Pulling up next to someone you just said you'd see later just made it a bit worse.

As he started the slow drive up the street, he thought back over the events of today.  The day had been such an adventure.  One that, thankfully, had a happy ending.

It was interesting that everyone had seemed to question that Henrik had actually run after Scout.  It should have been easy enough to say that Scout was more of an employee to him.  It should have been.

Those words had been harder to try to sell than he would have liked.  He knew why they were.  It was part of the reason behind why he had run after Scout in the first place, and it was far too personal to just mention casually as an excuse.  Part of his motivation was far more selfish than he would have liked to admit.

When he was younger, whenever he would run off out of fear or anger, he had wished that someone would have coming running after him too.  

No one ever had.  

Every time he’d have to pick himself and head back.  Whether it was him running from a fight on the playground or storming out of the apartment in anger, no one had ever come after him, telling him that he was actually wanted.  On those days that he wanted to keep running, he would always be the one reassuring himself, telling himself that things were going to be okay, that he needed to go back, he was needed for something.  Even today, he still wasn’t sure that his false words had done him any good.

He also wasn’t sure that he had ever stopped running.  Had he really ever stopped waiting, hoping, praying that someone would be able to keep pace and finally say those words, whatever they were, that he was longing to hear?  

If he hadn’t already given up, then he was close to it.  

Still, he felt like he was close to getting it one day, though he had felt that way for years.  It was hard to ask for what you wanted when you had no idea what it was actually, and it was hard to know if you ever had gotten it or not as well.  Was it emotional, physical, or verbal?  He didn’t know.  All he knew was that, when he was given whatever it was, he was supposed to know.

He just hoped that he would know that he knew.

But today hadn’t been about him.  Today wasn’t about him and he was okay with that.  He was merely a support role in someone else’s progression today, and he was flattered that he had gotten to be a part of it.  He had always loved being a part of people’s happiness, helping them and guiding them to being better off than they were…

But maybe, just maybe, he was starting to want to have the starring role in the play of happiness.  Maybe he was tired of standing in the shadows as others bowed to the thunderous applause of approval and pride that others gave.  Maybe, just once, he wanted to have the center stage.

Not today, though; today wasn’t that day.

And that day wouldn’t come until he had enough courage to step out of the shadows and into the spotlight.  If he came out of his shell, though, then he’d not have it around to protect himself anymore.  He’d have to have a darn good reason to put his heart and soul on the line.

Absentmindedly patting the pocket with his phone as he pondered, before sliding his hand up to the wheel, he actually felt like he finally had one.

He had a few hours before night truly fell.  Misha wouldn’t call until tonight.  That gave Henrik time to enjoy the rest of the evening.  Which was nice because the man didn’t feel like going home to his apartment quite yet.  He wasn’t ready to hole himself up and get lost in his head, overthinking and over-analyzing everything, until some form of reality broke and made him snap back.  Not yet.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling right now - it was a mix of joy for Scout, relief for his family, pride for his role, all dulled by a feeling of strange soberness as he went back over it all - and look at him, he was already wanting to run away from it.

He knew where he wanted to go.  He had time that he was free to spend before he should be expecting the call and he knew just what to do with it. He flicked on his turn signal, glancing behind him to check what his missing mirror couldn’t.

Glancing up at the gray sky, as small snowflakes melted onto his windshield, he couldn’t help but smile just a bit.  He didn’t regret a single thing about the day so far.  It had been an odd way to spend it, but he felt proud of everything that he had helped happen.

Today was turning into such a beautiful day, a much better one than he had anticipated, and he was going to spend it enjoying life for a bit and taking the long way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had two playlists for this chapter:  
> The "inspiration" playlist -  
> Sia - Elastic Heart x 10  
> Aurora ft Naimee Cole - Ordinary World x 23  
> Sia - Chandelier x 26  
> Sandro Silva - Firestarter x 35  
> Lady Gaga - Bad Kids x 65  
> Mike Poser - Took a Pill in Ibiza (Seeb remix clean) x 89
> 
> And the "I don't know why but I can write to this I need to write can I turn it off yet no aaah" playlist -  
> Jessica Sutter - Feline Resurrection x 43  
> Will.i.am - Feelin' Myself (Clean) x 35  
> TMABird x Everybody's Circulation x 37  
> Fat Cowboy - Do Dat Diddly Ding Dang x 72  
> Kazoo Kid - Trap remix x 76  
> Among others. You see what I do for you people?
> 
> This is officially the chapter I have done the most research for, as well as one of my longest. One of my biggest sources of information was the AmputeeOT on youtube. If you want any information about prosthetics, I recommend her channel. Used about a million different sources to try to portray Scout's life right; I hope I did alright.
> 
> I'll add more if I think of anything else...
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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